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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28623102">A Matter Decided</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/ch0nkert0n/pseuds/ch0nkert0n'>ch0nkert0n</a>, <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/ice_hot_13/pseuds/ice_hot_13'>ice_hot_13</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The Mandalorian (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - Lawyers, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Grogu is not in this, M/M, Not a kid fic</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-01-08</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-05-08</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-13 10:28:06</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>11</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>52,755</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28623102</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/ch0nkert0n/pseuds/ch0nkert0n, https://archiveofourown.org/users/ice_hot_13/pseuds/ice_hot_13</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Din is a junior associate at a law firm; he knows Boba Fett's reputation, is expecting him to be ruthless and cold and harsh.<br/>Boba is the softest thing he's ever known.</p><p>(Modern!AU)</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Din Djarin/Boba Fett</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>571</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>811</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>This fic was co-written with <a href="https://tr33xs.tumblr.com/">Tr33xs on tumblr!</a> (ch0nkert0n on ao3)</p><p>I said "I want Boba to cry at a Christmas party" and she had MANY more ideas than that, and suddenly, we have a novel. So thank you to the best writing partner ever, for turning this from a oneshot into a multi-chapter heartbreaker.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>    Din’s life was in a transitional period. This was the part that took him to where he wanted to go, the part he just had to survive for <em>one more year</em> before it ferried him to the right place. He would get there, he kept reminding himself, but there were days where it was hard to remember that this wasn’t endless. As he stared down at the documents on his desk, the letters all beginning to blur together, he struggled to convince himself that this wasn’t some permanent limbo he’d never escape. </p><p>    “You’re still alive, that’s a good sign” Cara’s voice was too chipper for whatever time it was; last Din had checked, it was nine thirty PM. Din groaned, propped his chin on his hand and watched her pluck three takeout coffee cups from the clutter of his desk and drop them in the trash. “I thought for sure he’d have murdered you by now.” </p><p>    “If you thought he was going to kill me,” Din muttered, pushed up his glasses and rubbed his eyes, “why didn’t you come <em>sooner?” </em>Cara rolled her eyes, but then she plunked a new cup of coffee down onto his desk, so Din could forgive her some eye-rolling. “You’re the best,” he sighed, reached for it and took a sip. </p><p>“I’m on my way out,” Cara said, and Din narrowed his eyes at her over the rim of the cup. “Sorry! I wish I could take you with me!” </p><p>“I’ll just languish here, no worries.” </p><p>“You’ll be back with us in no time,” Cara reassured. Just last week, Din had been working with Cara and the rest of Emily Armory’s team, on a case that actually <em>mattered; </em>the case had been in progress for several years, but eventually, eventually they would save an innocent man who had been on death row since he was a teenager<em>. </em>That<em> mattered, </em>but then Din was pulled away to work on a case about to go to trial where a win meant the head of a corporation walking away from medical negligence charges, and suddenly, his work didn’t feel all that meaningful anymore. He’d only been on the trial prep team for four days, and he was ready to sink down to the floor of his office and stay there. </p><p>“I know,” Din sighed. “Go home. Say hi to Leia.” </p><p>“She made dinner,” Cara said, visibly swooning, “I’ll bring you leftovers tomorrow.” </p><p>“You sound really sure I’ll survive until then.” </p><p>“Chili verde!” Cara promised, and with a wave, she disappeared from his office. Din slouched back down in his chair, went back to his reading; the coffee helped, and he thought he might make it through the rest of the evening. </p><p>“Hey!” Din’s head jerked up, but it was just Fennec Shand, clinging to his doorframe like it was a lifeline. “There was a deposition, from –”</p><p>“You <em>lost </em>it?!” The voice that roared from down the hallway was the one Din had been dreading hearing all evening, and he narrowed his eyes at Fennec, for involving him at the last moment. “Shand!” </p><p>“You don’t –” Fennec hissed at Din, and he shook his head fervently. She turned away from his door, hands raised in surrender, “I’m just going to run over and reprint, we’ll just get another copy, so it’ll be the same and –” she started. Din leaned forward across his desk, unable to resist, but he still couldn’t see around the corner of the doorway. </p><p>“I <em>understand </em>the concept of copies. What I <em>don’t </em>understand is why you think it’s acceptable to lose documents.” </p><p>Din didn’t have to see who was speaking to know the unmistakable voice. The most ruthless partner at the firm: Boba Fett. </p><p>“Oh! I remember who has it, they weren’t supposed to leave the room with it,” Fennec babbled out, “I’m sorry. I’ll go grab it. I can bring it to your office?” She nearly fled from Din’s doorway, and Din leaned forward more, trying to at least see if the ensuing silence meant that Boba had left. </p><p>It didn’t. Din startled backwards, when Boba suddenly stepped into view and looked right into his office. It didn’t help that Boba was gorgeous; he was no less terrifying because of his sharp jawline, cut cheekbones and smoldering eyes, no less intimidating dressed in a suit and looking <em>perfect. </em>Din had yet to speak directly to him, and was starting to doubt that he <em>could </em>manage any coherent words in front of Boba. Was he here to yell at Din, too? Din would probably crumple, probably already looked weak for flinching in shock at Boba’s sudden appearance. </p><p>“Sorry,” Boba said, and Din blinked at him in confusion. “For, uh. Scaring you.” He fidgeted with his watch, frowning. “Din, right?” </p><p>“Um. Yes.” Din felt frozen, somehow simultaneously afraid to meet Boba’s eyes and unable to stop staring at him. “Do you, um. Is there something I should – I can do?” Was he supposed to be somewhere else? Doing something specific? He wracked his brain for an answer, and couldn’t come up with one. It seemed bad, that Boba already knew his name. </p><p>“You’re done,” Boba said, and Din tensed, shrinking back in his chair. Was he being fired? Could that possibly happen this casually? Could Boba just – just look at him and <em>fire </em>him like this? He didn’t even sound <em>bothered </em>by it.</p><p>“I’m – <em>done?</em>” Din choked out; Boba’s eyes widened, and he actually looked something like frantic.</p><p>“No, shit, no, sorry. For the night. Everyone’s going home. You’re not – you’re fine.” He rubbed the back of his neck, looked away. “Sorry.” </p><p>He was gone before Din could say anything else, not that he could have managed it anyways. He slumped down in his chair, blew out a breath. Maybe it would be smarter to wait until he was sure Boba had left the office before leaving; Din was too tired to navigate so much as a ten-second encounter in the elevator. He would give it twenty minutes, and then go home, though the long trek back already felt exhausting, and he hadn’t even started it yet; he pushed his papers into a pile, took off his glasses and put his head down on his arms. Twenty minutes, and then he’d be safe from any more terrifying encounters as he left. </p><p> </p><p>Din woke to the sound of knocking. For a moment, he thought it was one of his roommates, until he lifted his head and realized he’d fallen asleep at his desk, and never made it home at all. The longing for his bed was matched only by the ache in his lower back.</p><p>“The floor is a better choice,” Cara said from the doorway. Din ran a hand through his hair, stifled a yawn. </p><p>“I meant to go home.” He reached for his glasses, rubbed them clean with his shirt. “I, uh. Didn’t want to run into Boba on the way out.” </p><p>“Wow, one week and you’re already to the point of hiding from him? He works fast.” </p><p>“He didn’t really do anything,” Din stood, stretched. “He was, uh. Nice? I guess? I thought he fired me, but he didn’t, so –”</p><p>“Oh, my God. It’s too early for Stockholm syndrome, okay? Promise me.” She stepped just far enough into the office to set a Tupperware on his desk. “Leia says hi. She’s going to be so mad when she hears you slept in a chair.” </p><p>“Then don’t tell her?” </p><p>“I’m not going to lie to my <em>wife, </em>Djarin.” Cara grinned, “See you later.” Once she’d left, Din shut the door and changed into his spare shirt and pants; as he knotted his tie, he turned towards the desk, and spotted a Starbucks cup that he was pretty sure hadn’t been there the night before, given the fact that it was an iced coffee that still had ice cubes. Maybe Cara had left it. </p><p>Din grabbed his coffee and notepad and headed to the conference room where the trial prep team was set up. Fennec was already seated, and Paz loomed at the head of the table, one of the four junior associates sitting on the right hand side of the head seat. Mayfield, naturally. Din still had no idea what his first name was; he was one of the guys who always went by his last name, something few people had ever seemed compelled to do for Din. He wasn’t sure what the difference between them was, exactly. Paz called them both by their last names, but somehow, it sounded fraternal with Mayfield, and like forced friendliness with Din.</p><p>“What’s up, Djarin,” Paz said, nodded towards him as Din slipped into the room. Paz was a junior partner who Din did his best to avoid; he’d never quite known how to socialize with frat boys, always unclear when they were joking and too serious to fit in with them, and he wouldn’t have been surprised if Paz still had a fraternity paddle hanging in his bedroom. </p><p>Din returned the nod and took the seat beside the other junior associate; he’d thankfully learned that <em>what’s up </em>didn’t require a response, after many awkward interactions. Paz arched an eyebrow, leaned in like he was looking at something on Din’s notepad, though it was blank. </p><p>“Look at you, golden boy,” he said, and Din blinked at him, looked back at the blank notepad like it might offer some answers. “Boss already knows how you take your coffee?” </p><p>Thankfully, Din was saved from having to answer when the remaining two junior associates, Zack and Ran came in, and he waited for Paz to look their way before reaching for his coffee again. The name on the cup was <em>Fett, </em>and if Din had been drinking the coffee, he’d have choked on it. He’d thought <em>Cara </em>dropped it off, but - Boba? The only thing Din could figure was that Boba had seen him sleeping with his head on his desk like some kind of pathetic intern and taken pity on him, not that that sounded in-character for him. Maybe he figured it was in his best interests to keep his junior associates caffeinated. </p><p>“We’re right on track for brief submittal,” Paz announced; he was still standing, and Din suspected he just liked being taller than his seated team. Somehow, despite the expensive suit, Paz always looked like he was about to run out the door for a rugby game. Maybe it was the tousled hair, or the sleeves he rolled up to his elbows to remind people he had arms made for athletics. “I’m not surprised. Like I was telling Cobb at the bar last night, my teams score nothing but touchdowns. If they gave me the Browns, they’d have got the Superbowl in no time.” </p><p>Across the table, Fennec rolled her eyes at the name-dropping. Beside her, Ran discretely checked his watch. He’d done it all last week too, and Din had thought he was just bored, until he’d been clued in that the junior associates on Paz’s teams always timed how long it took Paz to name-drop a partner in a meeting and were running bets. Zack consistently won the most money, apparently. It didn’t surprise him that Ran had started it all; back in law school, whenever there was some strange bet going on, Ran was always behind it and taking a cut. </p><p>“Why would they <em>give </em>you the Browns?” Fennec asked flatly, tapping her pen on the table. “Do they just go around gifting entire NFL franchises to people?” </p><p>“Because if was the Vikings, even Paz couldn’t save them,” Mayfield said, flashed Fennec a grin that was more of a smirk. “You see that bullshit they pulled on the Chiefs last night?” he asked Paz, who clapped his hands loudly and whooped. Din tried not to flinch at the sudden noise.  </p><p>“Didn’t even fucking matter! Broke the record <em>twice </em>anyways. Call all the time-outs you want, you can’t keep that kicker down.” </p><p>Thankfully, Paz moved on to actual business, and that, Din could handle. The morning passed quickly, and after having the chili verde Cara had dropped off for lunch, Din was actually starting to classify it as a pretty bearable day, despite the rapidly growing to-do list he was working through – at least, until Boba’s secretary showed up at his office door at four o’clock. </p><p>“Good morning, Ms. Motto,” Din said, and Peli chuckled. </p><p>“It’s afternoon, honey. Boba wants to see you,” she said, and Din hoped he didn’t visibly pale at her words. From her amused look, he might have. Din stood from his desk, looking around like it might give him answer about what he should bring with him. For lack of anything better to take, he snatched a notepad and pen, and followed her down the hallway. </p><p>Boba had a corner office that Din had never been in before. Peli knocked and then opened the door for him, left Din standing in the doorway; he bit his lip, edging further into the room. Boba was already frowning at him from the desk, which couldn’t be a good sign. </p><p>“You look like shit,” he said, which wasn’t the best opening Din could have hoped for. “I told you to go home and sleep.” </p><p>“Sorry,” Din mumbled. “I’ll go home tonight.” </p><p>“What’re you doing now?”</p><p>“Um. Responding to interrogatories.” Why did Boba have to be good-looking? It wasn’t enough, that he was intimidating? Din swallowed, pushed his glasses back up his nose so he’d stop fidgeting with his hands. </p><p>“I need you to pull these files.” He held out a list, and Din stepped forward to take it from him. </p><p>“Sure, yeah. I’ll be right back.” </p><p>“Hurry,” Boba said, but there wasn’t the bite to it that Din would have expected. Din all-but fled the room, and while he was pulling the listed files, Ran wandered into the room. </p><p>“Oh, shit,” he said, when he spotted the list in Din’s hand. “Better you than me!” </p><p>“Why?” Din asked, and Ran laughed. </p><p>“Just wait until you can’t find something. And don’t ever take more than a minute and a half to find it all,” he said, and he sounded just like Cara, with the head-shaking and ominous Boba stories. Sure, Boba had said <em>hurry, </em>but it had been so soft that it hadn’t exactly frightened Din. Just in case, he rushed through finding the rest of the files, said goodbye to Ran and returned to Boba’s office. This time, Peli wasn’t there to let him in, so Din knocked, and waited. A moment passed. </p><p>“<em>What?” </em>Boba’s voice sounded irritated; maybe Din really had taken too long. It couldn’t have been more than five minutes. Maybe seven. “Open the door!” Boba barked, and Din turned the handle, peered around the door. “Oh.” Boba’s voice lost its sharp edge. “Come in. Sorry.” Despite being a reputable asshole, that was the third time he’d apologized to Din since meeting him last night. Din wasn’t sure how to reconcile that with the reputation. </p><p>“I found everything,” Din said, took a tentative step closer, the heavy door closing behind him. He shifted the stack of paper in his arms, didn’t know where Boba wanted him to put it. Boba stood, beckoned him over to the round table with four chairs. </p><p>“Somewhere in this,” Boba said, pulling out a chair and then moving away from it to take the one beside it; Din took it as a cue to sit, and he then set the papers down on the table. Boba was right beside him, and for a moment, all Din could register was that he smelled really good. “Is proof that the patent had been mentioned before March 9<sup>th</sup>.”</p><p>So – Din was staying to help him, then. It was like looking for a needle in a haystack, and he didn’t question why they needed something so tiny and specific. Between looking through the documents and trying not to notice Boba beside him, he didn’t have the capacity to question anything else, anyways. Boba’s suit was navy instead of gray today, and he’d taken off the jacket; revealing a shirt somehow perfectly sized to just hint at the shape of his biceps and forearms beneath the sleeves. </p><p>Two hours passed in silence; through the wide windows that made up the office’s two exterior walls, Din could see the sky gradually darkening, gray clouds roaming overhead. </p><p>“So,” Boba finally broke the silence, but only barely, voice still quiet. “I don’t know what you’d do, but – I mean, you can do what you, uh.” Din couldn’t quite see what he was getting at, Boba’s head still down as he studied the paperwork on the table before him, elbows propped on either side of it. His shoulders were so tense, though, shifting uncomfortably beneath his shirt. </p><p>“What’s wrong?” Din asked, and Boba huffed a small laugh. </p><p>“Nothing,” he said, tilted his head just slightly to look at Din, “If I order dinner, do you want to pick what it is? For you?” It took Din a moment, to realize what Boba was getting at, between the many awkward ways he’d phrased it.</p><p>“Yeah,” Din agreed, but he was thinking <em>you? You’re the one everyone talks about? </em>Because he’d <em>heard </em>about Boba. Between the true stories about the cases he’d won, the possibly-exaggerated rumors he’d made three junior associates cry in one day, and the probably-fake story about him punching a witness in the courtroom, Din was expecting him to be the kind of ruthless he couldn’t turn off. </p><p>“Here,” Boba said, and he rose from his seat, came back with his laptop open to a directory of places to order from. “The rest of the team orders without me, so. Pick whatever.” </p><p>“What do you want?” Din asked, clicking through the menu and inputting his order. No doubt Boba never used the interface himself, like the rest of the partners; last time he’d asked Emily, she’d taken his hand in both of hers, looked him in the eyes and said “this is gibberish to me, and I do not intend to learn the language” so calmly, Cara had spit out her water across the table. </p><p>He hadn’t been expecting Boba to lean over his shoulder, though, and bit his lip as Boba leaned close to him, one hand on the back of Din’s chair. He smelled <em>good, </em>like expensive cologne and laundry detergent, and if Din turned his head just an inch, he’d be close enough to kiss Boba’s neck, which <em>wasn’t </em>something he should be allowing himself to think about. </p><p>“Same as you.” Boba straightened, returned to his seat. He moved folders around as Din completed their order, leaned over to open one of the boxes already on the floor. “Just had to be hard copies,” Boba muttered under his breath, hauling two more files onto the table. “I hate when they do this.” </p><p>“Guess they didn’t want to make it easy to defend –” Din started, still squinting at the computer screen as he finished the order, and cut himself off once his brain caught up with the words. He looked up in horror, wanted to die, or at the very least hide under the table. What was <em>wrong </em>with him, insulting criminal defense <em>to </em>the criminal defense attorney? </p><p>“I guess so,” Boba said, and when Din dared to look up, found that Boba was actually smiling down at the papers on the table. Maybe Din wasn’t about to be fired. </p><p>When the food arrived, Din went down to the lobby to grab it; in the elevator, he checked his phone and saw a message from Cara that read <em>eaten alive yet???!!! </em></p><p><em>Working in his office, </em>Din replied. </p><p>
  <em>IN HIS OFFICE?!!!?!! </em>
</p><p>Din found himself tempted to reply and defend Boba, but Cara would probably think he’d lost his mind if he actually texted her <em>I made him smile once. </em>He probably <em>was </em>losing his mind. </p><p>They stayed for another two hours, and right when Din was having trouble stifling yawns, Boba packed everything up and said it was time to call it a night. </p><p>“Live nearby?” Boba asked, as he shrugged on his suit jacket, did up the buttons. Din nodded. </p><p>“In the Mission,” he said, and Boba shook his head. </p><p>“That’s not nearby.” </p><p>“Just a mile.” </p><p>“I think it’s raining,” Boba said, although Din was pretty sure it wasn’t. “I’m going to call a car. Would you - also come?” For someone who was known to be a powerful speaker in court, he kept coming up with the strangest ways to ask Din innocuous questions. Din couldn’t help but find it endearing, just a tiny bit. </p><p>“Yeah,” Din said, and Boba looked up like he was surprised Din was taking him up on the offer. “Thanks.” </p><p>He’d spent all evening alone with Boba in his office, but somehow, it was an entirely different type of alone, when they were sitting together in the quiet backseat of a town car. It was like Din had somehow managed to step into someone else’s life, where he was <em>here, </em>with a gorgeous man in the back of a town car. </p><p>“Do you live close to the office?” Din asked, since they were clearly driving towards the Mission, so maybe Boba lived even further. </p><p>“SOMA,” Boba said, which was the entirely opposite direction from where they were going, back by the office, but he didn’t offer an explanation. When they stopped outside Din’s building, Din paused before opening the car door.</p><p>“Thank you, for the ride and everything,” he said, and Boba gave a small nod. “And… and the coffee,” Din added, in a moment of braveness, and Boba dipped his head, shrugged slightly. If it had been anyone else, anyone who Din hadn’t heard terrifying things about, he would have looked shy. </p><p>“See you tomorrow,” Boba said, softer than Din would have thought possible for someone of his reputation. </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Don't forget you can subscribe to this fic to be notified about chapter updates! </p><p>Also: some tiny liberties taken with the actual law portion of this chapter, to better deliver on our one true purpose here: boba being hot af as a lawyer</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> </p><p>Din sat in a rental car, changing the radio station back and forth. He’d barely gotten to work before finding out he would be the one accompanying Boba to the deposition in Menlo Park; the other junior associates had been whisper-arguing about who had to go, right up until Paz appeared in the conference room doorway and announced “first round draft pick is Djarin!” and tossed him the keys to a rental car. </p><p>He’d brought everything they’d need down to the car, set up navigation on his phone, and flipped through his own playlists before deeming everything too <em>something </em>to play. Too upbeat, too slow, too gay, and in the case of the classic rock, not gay <em>enough, </em>which was when he decided he was truly overthinking it and apparently, acting like he was on a <em>date</em> and not just driving an hour to assist a partner with a deposition. He’d just found an unassuming-enough sounding station when the passenger door opened, and Boba slid into the seat beside his. He was holding an iced coffee, which he held out to Din, not looking at him. </p><p>“You’re driving,” Boba said, by way of explanation. Din smiled, took the cup gratefully. </p><p>“How’d you know I always get iced?” It wasn’t exactly an original order, but it was his favorite. Twice now, Boba had gotten him coffee, and both times, it was iced, even though it was October.</p><p>“I guessed,” Boba mumbled. “You have the address?” </p><p>He took out paperwork and immediately buried himself in reading, as Din navigated through city traffic. It was at least effortless, driving without having to worry about making conversation, Boba busy rereading his notes. The traffic lightened once they got out of the city, and Din felt pleased with his radio station choice when he heard Boba humming along to a song very softly under his breath as he read. </p><p>It only occurred to Din once they’d already arrived in Menlo Park, once he was seated at a shining conference table and watching Boba take the seat across from the scientist they were deposing, that he was going to get to watch Boba actually work. There was no shortage of stories about Boba tearing people apart during trial, and Din couldn’t see how a basic deposition could get that bad, but he was interested to watch all the same. </p><p>“Please state your full name for the record.” </p><p>“Martin Pershing.” The scientist looked over at his own lawyer, then back at Boba, eyes wide with nervousness. Apparently, they’d been trying to drag him in for a deposition for months already, but he’d since left the biotech company and didn’t want to be involved anymore. Din didn’t know who he was supposed to sympathise with anymore – this scientist, maybe? Who’d at least tried to leave and not participate in the unethical trials the biotech company was being accused of? Or had he left just to escape the blame and fraud charges he must have known were coming? Either way, Din was stuck on the wrong side of the courtroom.</p><p>“You are aware you are being deposed in the case of Empire Sciences v. California.”</p><p>“Yes.” </p><p>“I am going to ask you questions, and you are going to answer them under oath. This subjects you to potential criminal charges of perjury for willfully giving false, misleading or incomplete testimony under oath. Do you understand?” </p><p>Pershing nodded, and then, at Boba’s pointed look, added aloud, “Yes. Yes, I do.” </p><p>Boba ran through the basic questions – the period of time Pershing worked for the biotech company, his department and job title, the specific project he’d worked on. And then, in the same neutral tone, asked “isn’t it true that you knew the process involving human trials was not in compliance?” </p><p>“I, uh,” Pershing stammered. Boba waited, staring him down. “I submitted all the documentation addressing GCP and HSP for the trials,” Pershing stated flatly. </p><p>“That would be ‘good clinical practice’ and ‘human subject protection’, correct?”</p><p>“Yes.”</p><p>“The Bioresearch Monitoring onsite visit concluded with orders to shut down your trials, correct?” </p><p>“BIMO, uh. Submitted their requirements for compliance after their visit.” </p><p>“Isn’t it true that you and you alone authorized the trials to proceed, even while knowing it was illegal?” Boba’s tone didn’t waver. Din could only glance towards Pershing for a moment before he was drawn back to Boba. He looked completely unshaken, gaze unwavering and shoulders back, like this was the least he was capable of doing; Pershing trembled like he knew it.</p><p>“I, uh.” Pershing was back to stammering, looking to his lawyer helplessly. “I was part of a team, that worked continuously to meet the compliance –”</p><p>“Isn’t it true that you and you alone had the authority to continue the trials? That it was up to you?” Boba’s voice raised sharply, making Pershing flinch. “Yes or no?!” </p><p>“Argumentative,” the lawyer beside Pershing protested, “Don’t answer that, Martin.”</p><p>“Did you authorize the trials to continue,” Boba continued, undeterred by the correction, “Knowing full well that they were actually out of compliance? Yes or no?!” Boba all-but shouted, and Din shivered, couldn’t stop openly staring at him. It was true, it was all true, he was absolutely terrifying and God, Din shouldn’t find that <em>hot, </em>he really shouldn’t. “Answer the question, Dr. Pershing! I don’t want to hear about the compliance requirements, we both know they didn’t factor into your decision. You didn’t agree with them, did you? You thought that your understanding of the trials was more nuanced than BIMO’s, and that you could proceed as <em>you </em>saw fit.” </p><p>“I just, I –” Pershing was nearly shaking, leaned back in his chair. </p><p>“Calls for speculation,” the other lawyer interjected.</p><p>“Did you authorize the trials to continue? Yes or no?! <em>Answer the question!” </em> Boba roared;</p><p>“I <em>knew </em>it would be fine!” Pershing burst out, “I knew! I authorized the trials because I knew it would be successful, and that’s how I knew someone was sabotaging the trial results, because I’d <em>known </em>it would be successful!” </p><p>His lawyer groaned; Boba looked smug, though the look vanished from his face when he glanced over at Din, replaced by something almost guilty. Din studied the notepad in front of him, shifted in his seat and spread his legs slightly, suddenly overly aware of his dick pressing against his zipper. Apparently the mix of intimidation and competency really did it for him. </p><p>It was either good or bad luck, that the rest of the day was much less eventful. Din tried to remind himself that he didn’t need more proof of how attractive he found Boba, and that him eviscerating witnesses wasn’t a <em>good </em>thing, even if it was thrilling. It was hard to remember, when Boba looked and sounded like <em>that. </em></p><p>By the time they got back into the rental car, it was eight-forty-five at night, and Din was already dreading finding parking near his apartment building. He didn’t have a parking spot, since he had no car, and the street parking was a nightmare. </p><p>“We’ve been trying to get that deposition for eight months,” Boba said, once they’d been driving for a few minutes. “Been giving us the runaround.” He was looking out the window when Din glanced over, though they were only passing dark trees alongside the freeway. “Sorry you got pulled off your pro bono case for this.” He lifted the folder in his hands slightly, to indicate the case.</p><p>“Oh, uh. It’s okay. I’m… happy to help?” Din said; after insulting Boba’s entire profession yesterday, he figured he should at least <em>try </em>and be a decent junior associate. He wasn’t exactly on the level of the guys who went around ass-kissing to try and get in good with even the junior partners, but if he could at least refrain from saying something that constituted a fireable offence, he’d consider it a win. </p><p>“You want us to lose,” Boba said, but he didn’t sound angry, just amused. “You couldn’t last two weeks without making that obvious.” </p><p>“Uh.” Could he backtrack from that? Din furtively glanced over at Boba; even though Boba was turned away, Din could see he was smiling. Din’s heart skipped a beat. “I’m… liking being here.” </p><p>“Yeah?” It was almost hopeful, his voice so completely different from how it had been that afternoon. He’d snarled at the scientist and terrorized him into confessing, and now he was – he was so soft. Din thought he might have whiplash, or at least a deeply flawed understanding of what was going on. </p><p>“Yeah, it’s, uh. A good experience. I want to be... well-rounded.” Was that the wrong thing to say? When he looked, Boba was biting his lip and not smiling anymore. Maybe he could tell Din was bullshitting him. “Do you… like it?” Din blurted out, and Boba laughed; suddenly, Din’s heart was racing again. </p><p>“No.” The answer made Din look over at him in surprise, but Boba didn’t elaborate. “What do you want to do? Eventually?” Boba asked. </p><p>“Ideally, uh. I want to be a children’s advocate, and work with foster kids.” </p><p>“That’s very specific.” </p><p>“Yeah, ever since I was pretty young. Mine was just – really great, so. It makes a big difference, when you’re a kid. They’re like… the first safe person you’ve had in a while.” Din smoothed his hand along the steering wheel, drumming his fingers against it. “So that’s what I’m… working towards, I guess.” </p><p>“That’s good. I mean – you – you are. Good, I mean.” The return of the awkward phrasing and what he’d almost call stammering made Din have to actively push down the urge to reach for him, overly endeared by it all. Just a few hours ago, he’d been forcefully controlling a conversation to go his way and now, telling Din <em>you’re good </em>was tripping him up. </p><p>“Thanks,” Din smiled over at him, but Boba’s head was down as he shuffled the papers in his lap.</p><p>There was considerably less traffic so late at night, and Din wasn’t ready for the drive to be ending so soon. The car was quiet, just soft music in the background and Boba beside him, and it was almost worse than the night before, another life even more seductive than the first, this a world where Boba felt like <em>his, </em>like Din was driving them home, dropped into a life where this could ever happen to him. It <em>wasn’t </em>happening, he knew, he <em>knew, </em>but Boba was so handsome and so perplexing, and Din couldn’t stop looking at him for either reason. </p><p>Once they reached San Francisco, Boba gave Din directions through city streets, until Din was pulling up at a high rise building in SOMA he’d never in his life be able to afford living in. Boba reached for the door handle, but didn’t open it. </p><p>“It’s getting late,” Boba said, still half turned towards the door, “If you want, I was – uh, was going to order takeout. It’s late, you’ll just have to go home and order something anyways, so let me … do that?” He glanced back, eyes serious, like he thought he might have to formulate further arguments. </p><p>“Sure,” Din said, though the thought of having dinner with Boba, alone in his home, was mildly terrifying. “Thanks, that sounds good.” </p><p>“I’ve got a guest parking spot you can leave the car in, if you want. I don’t know what parking’s like at your place.” </p><p>“Pretty terrible, really.” </p><p>So somehow, Din was staying with Boba, parking in his building’s garage and following him to the elevator, heart hammering. Boba was quiet in the elevator, hands in his pockets, studying the elevator buttons like they might change before they reached the top floor. When the doors slid open, Din followed him out into a quiet, cool hallway. </p><p>“It’s this one,” Boba mumbled, turning to the right and unlocking the door. Inside, it was simultaneously exactly like Din expected, and nothing like he could have imagined. He tried not to openly stare at everything as he followed Boba into the foyer. The condo was astoundingly spacious, impeccably decorated, and completely surrounded by windows. Din drifted towards the kitchen windows, which overlooked the Bay Bridge, bedecked with lights and stretching over the dark water far below.</p><p>“This is incredible,” he said, looking over his shoulder; Boba had disappeared down a hallway. Din turned from the window to get a second look at the kitchen, tried not to think about his own kitchen at home – cramped, barely wider than a hallway, perpetually messy. Boba’s kitchen was sleek and so clean, Din would almost think it had never been used. When he didn’t hear footsteps, he risked a peek into the refrigerator. It was all-but empty, with some takeout containers, a sealed bottle of expensive vodka, and a jar of olives. The only thing well-stocked about it was the two rows of La Croix, in limoncello and key lime, which weren’t exactly flavors the Din would have expected. The produce drawer held only two bags of dark chocolate-covered pretzels, and Din shut the door quickly, stifling an affectionate snicker. </p><p>“Here, I’ll –” Boba had reappeared, though he ducked into a small room that seemed to be a wine cellar before coming back over with a bottle of wine. He’d taken off his tie and shoes, and the sight of him in socks made Din’s heart twist for unknown reasons. “Sushi or something?” Boba asked, and Din nodded, slid onto one of the leather barstools as he watched Boba move around the kitchen, opening the bottle of wine and getting out glasses from the cabinet. He opened a drawer and took out a takeout menu he slid across the counter to Din. </p><p>After Boba put in their order, Din sipped from his wine glass – a red wine that even <em>tasted </em>expensive – and tried to think of something to say. “Everything looks really nice,” he tried, “the… decor and all. It’s amazing.” </p><p>“Oh, yeah. I hired someone to do the whole thing,” Boba shrugged, opened the drawer and slid the takeout menu back into it. “I’m not great at decorating.” The only thing it lacked was a personal touch; while gorgeous, the place was still sterile, and Din couldn’t see anything remotely personal left out, like Boba hadn’t been home in weeks. The bottle opener sitting on the counter looked starkly out of place and so did Boba himself, leaning against the counter with his sleeves pushed back to his elbows, first button of his shirt undone. </p><p>“I wouldn’t eat anything but California rolls for like, ten years,” Din said, and he grinned at the look Boba gave him over the rim of his wineglass, critical and disbelieving. “It’s a daunting menu when you don’t know what to get!” </p><p>“You could start with anything but that.” Boba leaned on his elbows, ran a hand through his hair. “Although I did go somewhere once that had fried chicken in sushi, and I can’t say I’d want that, either.” </p><p>“You have to have tried it though.” </p><p>“I mean, of course I tried it,” Boba said, and his smile was almost shy, when he looked down after meeting Din’s eyes. “And it was terrible. Almost like it was never intended to go in sushi.” </p><p>“But it still had seaweed?”</p><p>“Unfortunately.” </p><p>When the food arrived, Din was almost surprised it had come all the way to the door, too used to going down to the office lobby to retrieve takeout. “Go ahead,” Boba said, waved a hand towards the other side of the condo as he went to open the front door. Din wasn’t sure which of the two sitting areas he was referring to – there was an area with a TV and an area that overlooked the windows, and he went towards the windows instead, sat on the long leather couch. The dining room table had a view as well, but Din figured Boba was as tired as he was of sitting around tables. The couch was soft and had deep cushions, possibly more comfortable than Din’s actual bed. </p><p>Boba brought the food over, and while Din had been worried about what they would talk about at dinner together, it didn’t prove very difficult. He wanted to know more about the terrible sushi place Boba had been to, and Boba seemed happy to recite the menu to the best of his memory, Din laughing along at the increasingly terrible choices. </p><p>“Why did everything have cream cheese?” he asked, and Boba shook his head. </p><p>“When someone makes a hundred bad decisions, you’re surprised by number one hundred and one?” </p><p>“Somehow, the cream cheese is the worst part.” </p><p>“No,” Boba said thoughtfully, reached for his wine glass again and finished what was left. The bottle was finished, and Din was pretty sorry to see it go, didn’t think he’d ever had anything better. “The worst part was the shark hanging from the ceiling, I think.” </p><p>“Oh, yeah, that’ll do it,” Din snorted. Boba had one arm on the back of the couch, half turned towards Din, close enough to touch. “Where the hell was this place? Disneyland?” </p><p>“New York,” Boba said, after thinking about it for a moment. </p><p>“Vacation?”</p><p>"Arbitration. Why would I go on vacation?” </p><p>“To not work?” </p><p>“Yeah,” Boba snorted. “I’d much rather spend a week alone in a <em>different </em>city.” </p><p>“You don’t have to go by yourself,” Din pointed out. “You take vacations, you know... with people.” </p><p>“I don’t have anyone to take vacations with,” Boba said, “But, whatever. I don’t take vacations, so, it doesn’t really come up.” There might have been a pink tint to his cheeks; it was hard to tell in the dim light, the room lit only by the lamp on the side table. Din was definitely more tipsy than he'd realized, because he had to actively stop himself from blurting out <em>I'd go with you. </em>It suddenly seemed like an easy promise to make, because Boba had his cheek leaned against his fist, elbow propped on the back of the couch, turned towards Din with one knee pulled up, and he looked so soft and rumpled and touchable. </p><p>“But you don’t like work,” Din pointed out, possibly just as risky a thing to say, but he was having a hard time holding back. Boba looked at him like he didn’t know what to say, a helpless sort of resignation on his face. “I liked watching you work,” Din said, and it finally felt like he’d said something right, for the way it made Boba’s eyes light up a little. “It was, uh, kind of terrifying, really? But… not in a bad way, because you’re, you know. More than that.” </p><p>“Yeah?” Boba said, sounded more surprised than anything else, as if he had no idea that he wasn’t constantly terrifying, that he had an unmistakable softness that hid beneath the way he could command a courtroom, a cross-examination, a deposition. Then again, no one else seemed aware of it. Maybe Din was fully imagining it, because he <em>couldn’t</em> be the only one, that was impossible, unthinkable, because Boba would duck his head before he smiled and it was unbearable to think that no one<em> knew </em>that. </p><p>“I mean, I wouldn’t exactly call myself an expert, but, yeah,” Din said, and Boba shook his head, looked away and smiled. </p><p>“An expert,” he echoed, sounding amused. “I don’t think there <em>are </em>any experts on, well.” </p><p>“You,” Din filled in. “There should be. In my opinion.” </p><p>He took his glasses off, rubbed the bridge of his nose; when he looked over at Boba, he couldn’t remember if they’d been sitting this close originally, and he set his glasses down on the coffee table, leaned back against the cushions so he was even closer. Boba didn’t move back, just watched like he was waiting to see what Din would do next; Din would have thought someone like him would make that look more confident, more <em>arrogant </em>even, but on Boba’s face, it was almost nervous, endearingly out of place on his handsome features. Din couldn’t help but smile at him for it.</p><p>“What?” Boba’s voice was so, so soft. </p><p>“You look so worried,” Din said, touched Boba’s forearm with just his fingertips, where he’d rolled his sleeve back to expose bare skin, and when he did, the nervous look on Boba’s face turned almost hopeful. He was too good-looking, too successful, to look so unsure, and if Din had seen him like this <em>first, </em>he never would have believed the rumors or even the true things he’d seen for himself. “What could I possibly do that would be so bad?” </p><p>“It wouldn’t be bad,” Boba murmured, and when he smiled, he met Din’s gaze for the briefest of moments. Din slid his hand along the smooth leather of the couch until it landed on Boba’s knee, and Boba’s quick inhale made Din’s heart race. And suddenly, <em>easily, </em>Din was leaning in and kissing him. </p><p>There were a few long moments where it was <em>perfect. </em>The second Din pulled back, though, everything caught up with him and he froze, his thoughts a riot of panic because he’d just <em>kissed Boba, </em>he didn’t even know if Boba <em>liked </em>men and Din was a junior associate and he’d just kissed a fucking partner, and there was nothing Boba could say that could ever convince him it was <em>okay, </em>and Boba –</p><p>He didn’t say anything.</p><p>The moment Din’s lips left his, Boba <em>whimpered.</em></p><p>And then, then Din was taking Boba’s face in his hands and kissing him harder, like there was never any question about it. Nothing to wonder about, nothing to doubt, every answer suddenly the right one. Distantly, he could feel Boba’s hands fisting in his shirt, keeping him close, and Din could do nothing but keep kissing him, licking into his mouth and kissing him deeper, until Boba whimpered again. This time, when Din pulled back, there was nothing that could have stopped him from kissing Boba again. </p><p>“Please,” Boba whispered when Din paused, voice hoarse. And how could Din <em>deny </em>him anything, when he asked like that? The plea went straight to his dick, which suddenly strained the fabric of his pants. </p><p>“Fuck, of course,” Din managed, but he wasn’t close enough, wanted to be <em>closer, </em>and he shifted up onto his knees, slid his hands along Boba’s sides and, at Boba’s encouraging whine, grabbed him and laid him back on the couch, leaned down to kiss him again, one knee settling in between Boba’s legs. Din nearly gasped when he felt Boba’s erection grind against his thigh, he was so <em>hard </em>already, because of Din, somehow because of <em>Din</em>. He ducked his head to kiss Boba’s neck, and when he pressed his thigh down, Boba dropped his head back and groaned, hips arching into the friction. He was already trembling, gorgeous and needy and making the most perfect sounds Din had ever heard. When Din reached down to palm his cock through his pants, just to relieve the insistent, unignorable ache of how hard he was, the backs of his fingers brushed over the hard line of Boba’s erection. </p><p>“Oh,” Boba exhaled, eyes squeezed shut. His hands were still clenched in Din’s shirt, which had come untucked at some point, his tie loosened. Din wanted to ask what he should do, what Boba <em>wanted, </em>but – not yet, not yet, he wouldn’t tell Din yet, Din was suddenly sure of it. The set of his shoulders was too shy, he wouldn’t want to ask for anything just yet.</p><p>“Yeah?” Din propped himself on one elbow, closed his hand over the bulge of Boba’s dick, to a deep moan from Boba. Boba’s fingers tightened convulsively in Din’s shirt as Din rubbed over the head of his dick in tight circles, breathing shallowly and squirming beneath Din, hips moving in helpless twitches. <em>Look at you, </em>Din almost spilled out, but he didn’t want to make Boba self-conscious about the way he was thrusting his hips up against Din’s hand, the whimpering moans he was giving, didn’t want him to stop any of it. His whines had gotten a little louder, hands no longer just still in Din’s shirt but pulling him closer.</p><p>“<em>Please,” </em>Boba said again, the word breaking this time. Din dove in to kiss him, Boba pushing little moans into his mouth, and Din rocked his hips forward, thighs shaking from even the brief friction against his dick. </p><p>“Anything,” Din promised, “Anything. What do you want? I’d – <em>anything.” </em>He punctuated it with a kiss to the underside of Boba’s jaw, nuzzling into his neck, knew the bristle of his mustache would make Boba shiver. </p><p>“Let’s – bed, please,” Boba babbled out, and he peeked up at Din, lower lip caught between his teeth. </p><p>“<em>Yes, </em>yes,” Din kissed Boba again before he leaned back, stood up and reached to grab Boba’s hand to pull him up. Din bumped his shin on the coffee table as he tried to step around it, slightly unsteady on his feet, although he couldn’t tell if it was because he was still buzzed or because he was overwhelmed by how <em>good </em>this was, Boba’s hand in his as he let Din lead him towards the hallway. It was still dark, and the first door Din opened was just the bathroom he’d already been in before. </p><p>“I don’t know where I’m going,” he said, and Boba laughed as Din turned to grab him, press him up against the hallway wall and kiss him again. “Help me out here,” Din said against Boba’s lips, and Boba nodded. </p><p>“Just, it’s that way, the right,” Boba nearly panted, and Din hurriedly pulled him in the right direction, into a bedroom illuminated only by the city lights beyond the floor-to-ceiling windows. It was the most amazing view Din had even seen in a bedroom and he gave it only the briefest glance, couldn’t look at anything but Boba, pulling him forward onto the bed and climbing on after him. The bed was easily twice the size of Din’s too-small bed at home, and the extra space was luxurious, the comforter pillowy-soft beneath him. All Din could focus on was Boba undoing his shirt in front of him, the way his fingers fumbled with the buttons, how he was reaching for Din without bothering to actually take it off.</p><p>There was a moment where Din considered that he should be nervous, but all he could think about was how much he <em>wanted </em>Boba, how gorgeous he was laid out on the bed, disheveled and breathing shallowly as he looked up at Din, his eyes big and dark as he watched Din. Din undid his tie and unbuttoned his shirt, tossed them both aside.</p><p>“Tell me,” Din murmured, rubbed his thumb over Boba’s hip where his rucked-up shirt exposed the bare skin, Boba giving a strangled little moan. In the dim light, he could see a tattoo beneath his thumb, just simple lettering he couldn’t make out. He started unbuckling Boba’s belt, flicked open the button of his pants and undid the zipper. Boba’s dick strained the front of his boxer-briefs, and Din groaned aloud at the damp spot that appeared as he thumbed over the head of Boba’s dick.  “I’ll do anything,” he growled, leaned down to kiss Boba’s neck again, “I want to do <em>everything, </em>baby, just tell me what you want.” </p><p>“Fuck me,” Boba sobbed out, “oh, fuck, Din, <em>please.”</em> Din drew in a sharp breath and dropped his head to Boba’s shoulder, shuddering, did his best not to come <em>immediately </em>at the raw plea. </p><p>“Yeah,” Din groaned. “Yeah. Okay.” He pushed himself back up, ran a hand through his hair. “Everything’s – nightstand?” </p><p>“On the right. Uh, my right.” Boba looked towards the nightstand closer to the window, and Din crawled across the bed to open the drawer – phone charger, a few coasters, three condoms and a small bottle of lube, and he grabbed what he needed before scooting back across the bed. Boba had kicked off his pants but stopped there, biting his lip and watching Din with big eyes. </p><p>“I got you,” Din murmured, ran his hand along Boba’s thigh. Boba’s dick twitched at his touch, so Din did it again, fingertips trailing lightly over his skin. Din sat back to finally unbuckle his belt, shoved his pants off his hips and wiggled out of them. He ran a fingertip along the waistband of Boba’s boxer-briefs. “Take these off,” he said, and Boba whined but obeyed, and as soon as they were off, one hand strayed to his dick, achingly hard and the head wet with precum, stroking it slowly as he watched Din climb between his legs. For a moment, all Din could do was watch him, dumb-struck at the sight of Boba jerking himself off, how he lost his rhythm every time Din stroked his inner thigh.</p><p>Boba <em>fell apart, </em>when Din started fingering him open. He alternated between gasping <em>please, please, </em>and whimpering, dick leaking steadily onto his stomach. <em>Look at you, </em>Din kept thinking in worshipful awe, drinking in the sight of him, every sound he made. Din was so hard it hurt, kept squeezing the base of his dick to keep himself from coming just from watching Boba tremble and arch into his touch. </p><p>“You ready?” Din whispered, when he’d worked up to three fingers and Boba was babbling <em>please, please, please. </em>Din could barely stand not touching him for the seconds it took to grab the condom and lube again, but finally, he was hitching Boba’s hips up, pushing into him slowly. It was <em>good </em>and tight and almost too much for Din to handle, and he was vaguely aware of mumbling curses under his breath. </p><p>“Oh, fuck,” Boba moaned, his heels digging into the backs of Din’s thighs, urging him deeper until he was bottomed out. Din swallowed hard, hands tight on Boba’s hips, and he paused to take a few deep breaths before he got swept away by how <em>good </em>it felt. “Please,” Boba whimpered, squirming beneath him, and he looked <em>perfect </em>like this, falling apart just like this. </p><p>Finally, finally, Din was able to move, gave long, slow thrusts that made Boba arch his back and moan. “Harder,” Boba begged, “just – please, <em>harder.”</em> Din pressed all the way into him, earning a moan, and leaned down to kiss Boba hungrily. </p><p>Din did exactly what Boba wanted, <em>had </em>to, had to hear the way harder, faster thrusts made Boba cry out. When he tilted Boba’s hips just the right way, Boba <em>sobbed, </em>dropped his head back and clutched the sheets tight in his hands, trembling for it. Before Din could manage even three more thrusts, Boba was coming hard, without Din ever touching him. Between the way he tightened around Din and the desperate sounds he made, it was more than Din could take, and he came with a deep groan, shuddering, his last few thrusts making Boba give raw, pleading little moans, legs tight around Din's waist.</p><p>Din sank down on his elbows, breathing hard. Boba shifted beneath him, and Din drew in a shaking breath, leaned back to look at him. Boba was devastatingly handsome, <em>wrecked, </em>his face flushed and come on his stomach, Din still buried inside him; one hand rested on Din’s bicep, his chest still rising and falling rapidly as he looked up at Din, lower lip caught between his teeth. Din had seen him just that morning, looking perfectly put together in a suit, everything about him sharp and professional and suddenly, Din’s surroundings hit him all at once – he was here, in Boba’s bedroom, in the most expensive condo he’d ever set foot in, with a view of the Bay bridge just to his left, and Boba was – he was a fucking partner, he was Din’s <em>boss, </em>and Din was suddenly completely sober. </p><p>“I’m–” he started, barely managed to swallow back the <em>sorry </em>that threatened to follow, panic flooding his system. What was he thinking? What was he <em>thinking? </em>Was he taking advantage? Being manipulative? What the <em>fuck was he thinking? </em></p><p>Din pulled out and shifted back, still between Boba’s legs, felt heat rising up the back of his neck as he went to set a hand on Boba’s thigh and then snatched it back self-consciously. Boba tilted his knees together, shifting and pushing himself up and back from Din.</p><p>Din couldn’t look at Boba without feeling like he might start babbling, hurried to climb off the bed and looked around for the bathroom door as he peeled the condom off. God, he was so stupid. He wasn’t even drunk enough to justify this. Din yanked his underwear back on and mumbled “be right back” before he ducked into the en suite bathroom. </p><p>The bathroom was cool and silent, and Din leaned against the closed door, struggling to catch his breath. Had he paused to think, even once? He'd been so horribly swept away by how much he wanted this, wanted <em>Boba, </em>but he still had to go to work tomorrow. Would Boba think he'd done this purposefully? With – with some kind of motive? God, Din had been lust-drunk on the way Boba looked at him. </p><p>He eventually had to return to the bedroom. It was dim, quiet, the lights of the city somehow so far away out the windows, and Boba was sitting up on the bed with his boxer-briefs back on, shirt still unbuttoned, looking thoroughly disheveled, and how was Din supposed to ever speak to him at work again, knowing the way he looked after he'd been thoroughly fucked – soft, worn out, unable to button his shirt up again without his fingers slipping off the buttons. Din wanted to kiss him, and that was exactly why this was such a big mistake.</p><p>"I should go," Din mumbled, and Boba didn't lift his head, though his fingers stilled on the buttons. "I, uh." He couldn't think of anything else to say that could fix this; he grabbed his clothes off the floor, shrugged on his shirt and struggled into his pants, tie crammed into the pocket. Boba still wasn't looking at him, and Din wanted to beg to know what he was thinking; just a few minutes ago, he’d looked so relaxed, laid out beneath Din, and the tension was back in the set of his shoulders now. Maybe he was reevaluating what he thought of Din, now that Din had done this. Din knew fraternization between co-workers was discouraged, but he'd always assumed it was meant for associates, had thought that no one could really be stupid enough to try and sleep with a partner. But – here he was. The most powerful partner he'd met at the firm, and Din had been that fucking stupid. </p><p>"I should go," he said, again. Boba finally did look at him, just the briefest glance. If he was thinking Din was pathetic for trying to sleep his way into a promotion, it didn’t show, though a muscle in his jaw twitched as he looked away again. </p><p>“See you tomorrow,” he said, voice low, and Din was filled with renewed panic at the reminder – was it pointed? Supposed to remind him that he’d fucked up? It was effective, reminding him that they’d see each other tomorrow because Boba was his <em>boss. </em></p><p>Din didn’t quite bolt from the room, but he hurried out and tried to close the door silently behind himself; he paused only to put his shoes back on, grab his jacket and the rental car keys before he rushed out of the condo. </p><p>The whole <em>point </em>had been that he’d leave the rental car in the parking garage here and just take a Lyft home, but the idea of standing outside Boba’s building, where Boba could <em>come find him, </em>was terrifying. Din would rather circle his block fifteen times and then park a mile away than risk that happening. If he just left, if he disappeared from Boba’s condo and there was no follow-up talk, no reminders, maybe this would just go away. Well – not like he’d be able to forget it, exactly, because even now, just thinking about the way Boba had pleaded <em>harder, please, harder </em>had Din squirming in his seat. It had been so <em>good, </em>and that was almost worse, to know that it was good and also such a big fucking mistake.</p><p>It took until the first turn a block away for him to realize; he was squinting at the street sign, trying to see if he was at Howard or Mission, and the blurry sign letters made his heart sink from dread. So much for no reminders – he’d left his glasses in Boba’s living room. </p>
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<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Chapter 3</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
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</p><p>By the time Boba’s alarm went off, he’d already been lying awake for at least an hour. He reached over to swat at the alarm on the nightstand, fingers slipping over the smooth wooden surface until he managed to hit the right button. Still, he didn’t move, just pulled the covers tighter around himself and looked out at the still-dark sky beyond the windows. </p><p>Maybe he just… wouldn’t go in to work. He had a thousand things to do, a minimum of three dire situations to address, and deep down he knew he was going to eventually drag himself out of bed and go, but he tempted himself with the thought anyways. He could just stay home and <em>not </em>see the way Din was surely going to look at him. Boba hadn’t had the most romantic one-night-stands in the past, but he’d never had someone look so blatantly like they regretted it the <em>second </em>after coming, either. And it… hurt. To feel so thoroughly laid bare, and at the immediate regret on Din’s face, Boba had felt embarrassment wash over him like cold water, still vulnerable in a way he couldn’t shake off, couldn’t figure out how to shut himself off quickly enough.</p><p>He couldn’t skip work, though, partially because it would mean being home alone, where he would have no distractions at all and would just keep <em>thinking </em>about it. Keep hearing the way Din had growled <em>I want to do everything, baby, </em>keep feeling Din’s big hands on his hips and the way he’d manhandled Boba easily, purposefully, known the exact angle to hit that would make Boba come all over himself – Boba was <em>definitely </em>going to work, because staying here and jerking off to the thought of the staggering mistake he’d made last night was possibly the most pathetic thing he could do. </p><p>Boba forced himself out of bed, showered quickly so he wouldn’t be tempted to start thinking about last night again, and dressed in the charcoal-gray suit he looked best in. At the very least, he knew Din was attracted to him, and Boba needed <em>something </em>positive if he was going to survive the day. Maybe Din had been drunk? That would have been better, honestly, because that would have meant it was impulsive, because he’d <em>wanted </em>to. Din wasn’t, though, because Boba wasn’t either, and Din was so much bigger than him, couldn’t possibly get drunk on half a bottle of wine. </p><p>If it wasn’t that – either he’d taken pity on Boba, when Boba nearly threw himself at Din, or he’d done it with a motive, and Din was too sweet and too uninterested in staying with the firm long-term to do something so drastic. Boba wasn’t liking what possibility that left him with. </p><p>He couldn’t stomach the thought of eating anything, but he boiled water for coffee, left the French press to brew as he ventured back into the living room to clean up the takeout boxes. And – and there were Din’s glasses, sitting on the coffee table. Where he’d left them, right before he’d kissed Boba like he’d been <em>dying </em>to do it. Had he? Or had Boba just looked too desperate to be kissed? </p><p>Boba slid the glasses into the inside pocket of his jacket and left for work without remembering his coffee until he was already in the car. Despite his determination to go to work, and the fact that he was already an hour later than usual, he took the longest possible route to get there, the downpour of rain making traffic even slower, and once he’d parked in the garage, he stayed in the car for at least twenty-five minutes, trying to work up the nerve to actually go inside. He was probably going to see Din. He <em>had </em>to see Din, because he had Din’s glasses. Din had been in such a desperate hurry to leave, he’d forgotten his <em>glasses. </em></p><p>How was Boba ever supposed to look Din in the eye again when just last night, he’d been <em>begging </em>Din to fuck him? And if other people found out, if they found out that Boba was so lonely and infatuated with this gorgeous man and his deep brown eyes and achingly genuine kindness that he’d come on to Din – the gossip would travel astoundingly quickly, everyone would be talking about the partner who’d gotten railed by a junior associate, that ruthless, cold Boba Fett became a whimpering, pleading wreck for Din the first time he had Din alone. The worst part – the worst part was that Din wouldn’t tell anyone. He was too good, too kind, and it didn’t even <em>matter, </em>if anyone else knew. Din knew.</p><p>When he spotted movement in the next row of cars, other people walking by on their way into the office, Boba drew in a shuddering breath, and finally got out of the car. He was sure that Din was already upstairs, although he couldn’t stop himself from glancing into the elevator before he got on it, peeking around corners just a little too nervously. He avoided the hallway that passed by Din’s tiny office, took the long way to get to his own office. </p><p>“Good morning!” Peli’s voice made him jump, though he was right in front of her desk where she could always be found. </p><p>“Morning,” he managed, stopped at the corner of her desk. “I know I’m late,” he said, because she was giving him a searching look.</p><p>“Honey, you can do whatever you want,” Peli pointed out, and Boba shrugged. “These came by courier this morning, and–” Boba glanced down the hallway, attention slipping when he caught movement, but it wasn’t Din. He took the stack of files Peli passed over the ledge of the desk, tucked them under his arm, nodding along as she talked though he couldn’t quite grasp onto the words. Din’s glasses were still in his pocket. He’d have to… do something, about that. </p><p>“Hey!” Peli snapped her fingers, and Boba startled, looked back at her. “Are you sure you’re alright?” </p><p>“Uh-huh.” </p><p>“You look like you had a bad night,” Peli said, and there was a concern in it that made him crumple a little, that he was so obviously in bad shape. </p><p>“I, uh,” Boba swallowed hard, readjusted the papers. “I think I might have.” His voice broke on the words, and he drew in an unsteady breath, jaw tight. He couldn’t be here, how was he supposed to even look at Din? Or, more terrifying, let Din see him? <em>Fuck me, </em>he’d sobbed, like the absolute desperate mess he was, struck dumb by Din’s natural gentleness, his unerasable honesty. Right up until the end, he’d been so thoroughly swept away by it all, had lived in a world where Din could have actually liked him, actually <em>wanted </em>him. “I thought it was good,” he mumbled, gaze dropping to the ground. </p><p>“That’s rough,” she said, and though her tone was as brisk as ever, he recognized the compassion in it and was, for at least the hundredth time that month, so grateful to have her. “But you can’t cry about it at work. You are a force of nature that scares the shit out of everyone here and you need to go back out there and act like it.” </p><p>“I know.” It almost felt doable, when Peli fixed him with a fierce look that would accept no other alternatives. Boba continued into his office, dropped off the files, and then, before he could lose his nerve, went straight to Din’s office. </p><p>Din was at his desk, and he didn’t notice Boba when he walked up, head bent over a stack of papers. His shoulders were so broad, even when he was hunched over his desk, and he wore clear-framed glasses, because his usual black-framed ones were in Boba’s pocket. He’d left without his <em>glasses, </em>he’d been that eager to get out and away from Boba –</p><p>“Hey,” Boba said, and Din’s head jerked up; immediately, panic filled his brown eyes. How he managed to show so much anxiety and regret on his face without saying anything was beyond Boba, and Boba fought the urge to step back. “Uh. Here.” He stepped only close enough to reach over and set Din’s glasses down on the corner of his desk, quickly withdrew. </p><p>“Thanks,” Din said faintly. God, he looked so <em>worried, </em>like he’d looked that time he commented on how the state didn’t want to make it easy to defend their client, and that time he’d misunderstood <em>go home </em>as <em>you’re fired, </em>and – and he must be thinking the same thing now, that his job was at risk because of what he’d done, what Boba had <em>begged </em>him to do, and Boba felt sick at the realization. <em>You can’t cry about it at work, you can’t cry about it at work, </em>he reminded himself. </p><p>“You don’t – don’t have to look at me like that,” Boba mumbled, swallowed hard. “It’s – everything’s – it’s okay. I’m sorry for, uh. Putting you in that – that position.” He left Din’s office without waiting for a reply, only reached the door of his own before he realized he wasn’t actually ready to be at work. </p><p>“I’ll be back,” he told Peli, turned to find her watching him with worried eyes. “I’m going to get coffee.” </p><p>“I can just order it,” she offered, but he shook his head, throat feeling tight at the thought of staying put.</p><p>“I need a break.” </p><p>“You just got here.” </p><p>“I know.” Boba ran a hand through his hair, glanced down the hallway again, but had no reason to believe Din had left his office. “I’m not – ready.” </p><p>“Alright then,” Peli said, tapping her pen against the desk, head tilted as she looked at him with blatant concern. “You remember what I said, okay? Now go pull yourself together. You’ll be alright.” </p><p>By the time Boba left the building and had reached the coffee shop around the block, what Peli had said almost sounded possible, despite the way he felt. Like somehow, everything could be okay, even though he’d fallen apart for Din embarrassingly easily, even though Din was looking at him like he was the representation of the worst mistake Din had ever made – it would be okay, somehow, it <em>would</em>. At the very least, he had to believe that, otherwise he’d never be able to talk himself into going back into the office. </p><p>Boba bought his coffee and took the long way around the block on his way back; he was at least three hours behind on everything he had to do, but he’d just stay later to make up for it. Not like he wanted to go home, to his empty condo, which somehow felt more lonely than an empty office. Maybe it was the bigger space, his closed-off office almost feeling cozy compared to the spacious and empty condo rooms, or the fact that it was okay when an office felt lonely, but a <em>home </em>feeling like that was hard to take. </p><p>Right as he was walking up to the office’s row of glass doors, someone swooped in to open the door for him. </p><p>“Imagine running into you here!” Cobb Vanth, of course, because Boba wasn’t having a bad <em>enough </em>day. Why not make it worse, why not also run into his ex-boyfriend from law school? Fucking <em>excellent. </em></p><p>“Imagine,” Boba ground out. </p><p>“Late and with Starbucks,” Cobb chuckled; he still held the door, and Boba refused to accept the gesture, narrowed his eyes at Cobb. “That’s not your style, that’s mine.” </p><p>“I don’t see a coffee,” Boba sneered, and he spluttered when Cobb’s response was to reach out and take the cup from his hand. Cobb took a sip, ignoring Boba’s glare. He looked rakishly handsome as usual, effortlessly casual in a way Boba could never manage. Cobb could stride into a room with his sleeves rolled back to his elbows, tie tossed over his shoulder, and win over everyone he smiled at. </p><p>Boba frowned, crossed his arms over his chest; it was getting windy, and he wished he had more than just his suit jacket. Cobb was still wearing a coat and even a scarf, and he appeared ready to stand there holding the door open all day, until Boba caved and walked through it. The scarf was an intricately patterned red Hermes scarf, of course, and Boba glowered at it, crossed his arms tighter.</p><p>“How’s your case?” Cobb asked, taking another sip. “This is terrible, by the way. You know they do pumpkin spice in October? You could be having a much better experience right now.” </p><p>“I’m not having <em>any </em>experience since you <em>took </em>my coffee,” Boba huffed. “And how’s my case? Who gives a shit?” Cobb laughed, shook his head. </p><p>“Weren’t you nice, once? I remember you being nice,” he said, and Boba <em>really </em>couldn’t handle this, not today. He did his best not to visibly shiver when the wind swept through again. People moved past them, using the other doors, and Boba hunched his shoulders against the wind. He wanted to hide in his office, not stand out on the sidewalk, listening to his ex-boyfriend from fifteen fucking years ago tell him he’d changed for the worse. </p><p>“You’re misremembering,” he snapped. “Fuck, Cobb. Can I <em>go?” </em></p><p>“I’m not stopping you,” Cobb held a hand towards the open door, “in fact, I’m trying to help.” </p><p>“For fuck’s sake,” Boba snarled under his breath, and he finally stalked past Cobb into the warm lobby. Cobb meandered after him, still drinking Boba’s coffee. Boba thought better of taking the elevator at the same time as Cobb, turned the corner to the stairs instead, where he checked his email on his phone for a few minutes, loitering in the hallway so Cobb would have enough time to disappear upstairs somewhere, and Boba wouldn’t have to deal with him again. He leaned against the wall, responded to a few emails and sent one to Peli to ask if she could order coffee, after all. </p><p>Once Boba finally made it into his office and obtained coffee he actually got to drink, the day started moving more quickly. He could almost forget about everything when he was busy enough, and since he was running so far behind, there was plenty to work on. </p><p>He knew Din was either in his own office or in the war room with the rest of the team, so it was easy to avoid him. The only person Boba had to deal with was Paz dropping by to give him the progress updates he asked for. </p><p>It got later and later and the office grew progressively quieter outside his door. Boba wasn’t quite ready to think about going home yet, even though night had long since fallen. It was much easier to order dinner to the office and keep working, because at least here, he didn’t have to feel like he <em>shouldn’t </em>be alone. Here, it was fine. </p><p>     A knock on the door made Boba jump, and he took a moment to steady his breathing, rubbed the bridge of his nose. It was probably just Paz or Fennec, wanting to show him how late they’d stayed before going home, as if Boba cared. </p><p>    “What?” he called, glanced towards the door when it opened. </p><p>    It was Din. He stepped through the door and closed it quietly behind him; he was wearing the black glasses again, and Boba’s heart twisted at the sight. </p><p>Din ran a hand through his hair, further tousling it. “You got a second?” he asked, and his voice was so deep, practically a growl all the time, but so <em>gentle, </em>Boba always hung on every word. </p><p>“Um. Yeah,” Boba managed, heart already racing. Was this bad? Was Din here to say he wouldn’t work for Boba anymore, had he waited to until after hours to do it so it wouldn’t embarrass Boba in front of everyone else? Even when Boba was in the wrong, Din was still being kind. </p><p>“I…” Din started, and he paused, straightened his shoulders and looked right at Boba. “You didn’t put me in any position last night. It was all me, and I’m sorry if I was out of line,” he started, and Boba’s heart sunk like a stone, gaze dropping to his desk. This was bad, this was <em>bad. </em></p><p>“No,” Boba murmured, but it was barely audible. </p><p>“But, it was incredible, and I can’t stop thinking about it.” Din said, and Boba’s head jerked up. There wasn’t an apology on Din’s face. He was looking at Boba like – like he had last night, eyes dark and smoldering, like Din <em>wanted </em>him. </p><p>“Yeah?” Boba managed, and Din took a few steps closer, set his hands on Boba’s desk, leaned slightly forward towards him. He smelled so good, and all Boba could do was stare at him, wait to see what Din would do. </p><p>“I would do it again,” Din said, voice low, and it went right to Boba’s dick. He shifted in his chair, gaze fixed on Din. </p><p>“You would?” It almost sounded pleading, but maybe that was okay, because it seemed like Din <em>wanted </em>him, somehow. It was okay that he was pleading now, that he’d been desperate last night, it was <em>okay. </em></p><p>“Yeah,” Din’s voice was a true growl. “I would. I want to make you feel that good again. I can’t stop thinking about the sounds you made for me.” </p><p>“Oh, shit,” Boba was suddenly so hard, and he hoped that was Din’s intention, because if he looked down, he’d see Boba’s dick pressing against the front of his pants eagerly. “Din, <em>please.” </em>He couldn’t manage anything else, when Din was looking at him like that, reduced to pleading for things he didn’t have names for. </p><p>“You were so good,” Din said, and maybe he just meant that Boba felt good, but it sounded like more than that, so <em>soft. </em>“I freaked out,” Din said quietly, “It’s not because I regretted it. It’s because I knew I wanted to do it again.”</p><p><em>“Oh.” </em>Boba had to spread his legs wider, felt his face growing hot. He watched as Din straightened, circled around the desk and turned Boba’s office chair towards himself. Boba dropped his hands into his lap, breathing shallowly. </p><p>And Din – Din <em>kissed </em>him. He took Boba’s face in his big hands, and kissed him hard. Suddenly, Boba really could believe it, that Din didn’t regret it, that Din <em>wanted </em>him, because he was kissing Boba like he couldn’t get enough of it. Boba couldn’t help the whimper that escaped him when Din pulled away, but Din didn’t go far, just dropped to his knees and ran his hands over Boba’s thighs. </p><p>It was just like last night, when he was so confident in what to do, unhesitating as he reached to unbuckle Boba’s belt and undo his pants. He didn’t waste any time in freeing Boba’s erection from its confines, and before Boba could even register what was happening, Din’s mouth was on him and nothing else <em>existed. </em></p><p>“Oh my God,” Boba whimpered, struggled to keep his hips from arching up. Din hummed around his cock, swallowed him down until Boba’s dick hit the back of his throat; a sobbing moan tore its way out of Boba’s chest, and his hands clutched convulsively at the chair’s armrests, Din’s mouth so hot and wet and so <em>fucking </em>good. </p><p>All too soon, Boba was getting close, hips twitching helplessly as Din did something with his tongue that <em>undid </em>Boba. When he looked down and saw Din rubbing himself through his pants, the sight hit Boba <em>hard. </em>Din was into this, was sucking Boba’s dick and jerking himself off, was <em>into </em>it. As he watched, Din gave a small shudder, hips twitching up against his palm, a damp patch spreading over the fabric.</p><p>“Oh fuck, I’m, I’m gonna come,” Boba gasped out, pet one hand frantically through Din’s hair, “Din, I’m gonna come.” </p><p>Din pulled off, but it was only to look up at him and say “so come,” voice sinfully hoarse, before he ducked his head again. He set one hand on Boba’s hip, encouraging him to move; Boba obeyed, hips bucking up helplessly, and it took only three tiny thrusts before he was coming, the whole world shrinking down to how amazing it felt. </p><p>Boba tipped his head back to the chair, breathing hard; he tucked his dick back into his pants with trembling hands, couldn’t quite manage the zipper just yet. Din sat back on his heels, hair mussed and eyes dark with desire. Boba whimpered when he caught sight of the wet spot on Din’s pants, the fabric clinging to the damp head of his dick. </p><p>“Sorry,” Din said, but he was smiling, dimples and everything. He looked down, hand covering the wet patch on his pants. “Couldn’t help it.” He stood, but this time he didn’t leave; he cupped Boba’s cheek in one hand, leaned down to kiss him again. “Are you staying here until midnight, or what?” </p><p>“If I leave now, I can drive you home? I drove today, so – I could,” Boba offered, and Din nodded. </p><p>“Let me go change first,” he said, and Boba wanted to kiss the blush that appeared on his cheeks. “I’ll be right back.” </p><p><em>What happened, </em>Boba was tempted to ask, because Din had looked at him so <em>differently </em>that morning, like kissing Boba again was the last thing he’d ever do. He didn’t want to question it, though, in case looking too closely made it disappear again. </p><p>The building was dark and empty as they left, and usually, Boba would be leaving alone, looking at the light that seeped out from beneath closed doors and feeling so lonely to be leaving it behind for the night. It was different with Din beside him, somehow less quiet, even though Din wasn’t saying anything. </p><p>In the car, Din gave him directions towards the Mission district, where the car had dropped him off before; how had it only been a few days ago? </p><p>“I didn’t remember my glasses until I had to drive without them,” Din said, voice soft in the quiet car. “Thanks for bringing them.” </p><p>“You, um. I didn’t think you’d – you’d – this morning,” Boba tried to get out, but between Din’s proximity to him and the memory of how miserable the morning had been, the words were hard to force out. He didn’t function well when things felt personal, when it wasn’t as formulaic as work and the gaps left room for anxiety to slink in, settle in between the variable pieces. “It didn’t seem like you’d… want to… again?” He flexed his fingers against the steering wheel nervously, didn’t dare look over at Din. He missed the turn he’d intended to take, had to skip the next one-way street and take the next left turn instead. </p><p>“I’m sorry,” Din said, and he slid his hand onto Boba’s thigh; Boba drew in a shallow breath. “You kind of scare the shit out of me, you know?” Which wasn’t exactly what Boba wanted to hear, and he clamped down on a pitiful whimper a moment too late. “Not in a bad way,” Din added, and when Boba risked a glance, Din was looking at him with such earnest sweetness that Boba was tongue-tied all over again. </p><p>“It’s a…it’s not… a bad way?” God, Din probably couldn’t believe he’d managed to make it to partner, probably thought he must be a mess in court. <em>It’s just with you, </em>Boba wanted to tell him, but that seemed worse. </p><p>“No,” Din said, squeezed Boba’s thigh slightly. “No.” </p><p>They arrived at Din’s apartment building far too soon, and Boba bit his lip, watching Din gather his bag and jacket, unbuckle his seat belt. Din opened the door, but then he paused, leaned over and kissed Boba goodbye. </p><p>Back at home, Boba leaned against the kitchen counter, looking at the couch in front of the panoramic windows; the condo was empty and he was alone, but it felt a little different, somehow. Din kissed him goodbye; coming home felt less lonely, because of that. </p>
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<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Chapter 4</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>yes, zack is the droid zero and yes, i think i'm hilarious for doing that</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> </p><p>Lately, Din couldn’t wake up in his own bed without thinking of Boba’s bedroom. Every morning, he just closed his eyes again, trying to picture a room he’d never seen in the morning – maybe Boba would let Din hold him, let Din kiss the nape of his neck and press up close against his back, maybe Boba would wake up first or maybe he would sleep in, maybe if Din touched him, the sounds he made would be even softer, sleepy and pleased. Because he was <em>soft, </em>and now that Din had realized it, he couldn’t stop seeing the evidence. </p><p>Din had been prepared to suffer consequences. He’d been dreading facing Boba at work, sick with worry about what would happen next, and then Boba had come to give him his forgotten glasses, and <em>oh, </em>the <em>look </em>on his face. Din had been struck dumb by it, by the flash of insecurity, the nervous set of Boba’s shoulders and his hesitance to come further into the office, like he thought Din didn’t want to see him, like he was afraid of what Din might say because he was afraid it would <em>hurt</em>. Boba hadn’t looked like a partner about to wreck Din’s career, he’d looked like someone who thought the man he’d slept with regretted ever touching him.</p><p>Somehow, Din was actually looking forward to going in to work; it didn’t matter, that the government had produced a hundred boxes of documents during discovery that they now had to go through, didn’t matter that he doubtlessly had another long, long work day ahead of him. In the last couple days, he’d gotten to kiss Boba again and again, in secret little moments where it was just the two of them, Boba looking at Din like he was surprised every time Din kissed him. Din had already fucked him but <em>that </em>was what made Boba gaze at him in startled awe, when Din would pause to lean across the desk and kiss him before leaving the office. </p><p>Once Din got to work, his usual morning struggle began: trying to focus on anything besides wondering when he’d get to see Boba. Din stopped by his own office to leave his bag in the tiny closet, made yet another mental note to replace the spare clothes he usually kept in there since he’d exhausted the supply, grabbed his things and headed to the war room. As usual, Fennec was already there, buried in work like she’d been at the conference table for hours already. Zack sat across from her and had probably just arrived, given how he was still setting up his work area with a notepad, smaller notepad, and three pens in different colors. He was just adding a row of highlighters when Din took the seat three down from him. </p><p>“Is all that really necessary?” Fennec asked, as Zack began to encroach on her end of the conference table. </p><p>“Color increases memory capacity,” Zack informed her, “if you subscribe to the levels of processing model created by Craik and Lockheart. Color coding allows you to access a deeper level of analysis while forming memories –”</p><p>“Oh, my God, fine, fine. Color code away.” </p><p>“Font can also contribute to this,” Zack continued, “when Craik and Tulving tested subjects on their recall of a list of sixty words–”</p><p>“What happened to Lockheart?” Fennec remarked, to a bewildered look from Zack. Din choked on a laugh, started assembling the piles of paper he had to go through. Banker’s boxes lined the walls, stuffed with the government’s documentation and evidence produced during discovery; Paz’s reaction to seeing it all upon its delivery had been a boisterous “well, fuck <em>me,” </em>that had been quite possibly the first time Din had ever felt like they were speaking the same language. </p><p>“This looks like a party!” Along with the boxes and the staggering workload they represented had come another junior associate: Toro Calican, quite possibly even worse than the hundred boxes. He stuck his head into the conference room, grinned at Din when Din was the only one stupid enough to look up at his voice. “You guys got room for one more?” </p><p>“Seeing as it’s your job to be here,” Fennec said through her teeth, “I suppose we must.” </p><p>Toro sauntered into the room, seemingly oblivious to the chill in her voice, and took the seat beside Din’s, a surefire sign that Din’s day was about to be twice as irritating. At least the other addition to the team had been a good one: Cara had been brought over to help, and though she resented being on Boba’s case, at least Din got to see her more often. </p><p>The great question of his morning was answered at eleven-fifteen; Din had his head down over his work, doing his best to look to Toro like he couldn’t be interrupted for the thirtieth time, when he heard Boba’s voice from the doorway. Din looked up at the sound, probably too eagerly.</p><p>“Haven’t come in yet,” Paz replied to Boba’s question about some files he must have sent for. Boba looked impeccable in a navy suit, still wearing the jacket, like he was either on his way in or out. </p><p>“Have them brought to my office when they do,” Boba said, and Din caught the way Cara rolled her eyes at his sharp tone, her back to Boba. Din thought of the last time he’d heard Boba say <em>please, </em>bit his lip and tried not to look like he was picturing it, the intimidating partner snapping orders as a shivery mess for him, whimpering <em>please please please</em>. Not even picturing it, <em>remembering </em>it. </p><p>“Send someone with them,” Boba was telling Paz, “Send… Din,” he said, and it didn’t escape Din’s notice, that the other junior associates breathed a sigh of relief when their name wasn’t said. Cara met his gaze across the table and looked sympathetic; Din felt almost guilty that she felt bad for him, when he was going to get to spend time alone with Boba, doubtlessly get to slide a hand onto Boba’s thigh beneath the table and feel the way he shivered, kiss him until he made tiny, pleading sounds. </p><p>“You got it,” Paz said, and Boba was gone, footsteps fading down the hallway, in the opposite direction of his office. Paz headed out too, promising the team that their fearless and handsome leader would return momentarily. Fennec rolled her eyes. </p><p>“Look who’s getting in good with the big boss,” Toro said, elbowing Din. </p><p>“Din always gets the short straw,” Ran snickered, “Maybe your name’s the only one he remembers. Better you than me, though. Last month, I brought the wrong file and got yelled out of the office.” </p><p>“That’s nothing,” Mayfield broke in, and he leaned back in his chair to check the doorway before leaning forward again, “I forgot to bring a file to a deposition last month, and he ripped me a new one. Made the secretary in the next office start crying. The dude’s a <em>dick.” </em></p><p>“I was there for the witness punching!” Toro claimed, and Mayfield rolled his eyes. </p><p>“No, you weren’t. That didn’t happen.” </p><p>“It did! I mean, I wasn’t <em>there-</em>there, but I was in the courthouse,” Toro insisted. </p><p>“Yeah, and it didn’t actually happen.”</p><p>“There would have been some <em>consequences </em>to that,” Cara pointed out, “even he can’t just go around punching witnesses, Toro, my God.” </p><p>“He could,” Toro insisted, “because he <em>totally did.” </em></p><p>“Oh, please. He probably started that rumor himself, so people would be scared of him.” </p><p>Din slunk further down in his chair, chewed the end of his pen and tried not to look conspicuous. The stories weren’t <em>untrue </em>– except for Toro’s – but it was so hard to reconcile with what he’d already seen. He’d seen Boba at the deposition, knew this was all another side of him, but – <em>why? </em>How had he turned out like this, so guarded of anything vulnerable about himself that he went to such extremes to protect it? Din wanted to coax him out of hiding, make this fighting, angry side back off and make him feel safe enough to let anything else show. </p><p>“How hasn’t he lost it on you yet?” Ran asked Din, “You’re <em>always </em>the one that has to go to his office. No way you haven’t fucked up yet.” </p><p>“Well,” Din hesitated, searched for something to say. </p><p>“I have one,” Fennec said, saving him from having to reply. The junior associates all turned towards her in surprise. She leaned back in her chair, one leg crossed over the other. “We went to a mediation in Capitola. Lasted a whole day, nonstop back and forth, very messy process. And then, while I’m still in the conference room, he <em>left. </em>He literally left me behind and took the car back to the city.” </p><p>“Oh, my God,” Cara shook her head. “What an asshole.” </p><p>“Yeah. That was one expensive Uber, let me tell you. You have to be pretty self-centered to forget an <em>entire person.” </em></p><p>Din took off his glasses, busied himself rubbing them clean on his shirt. How exactly <em>was </em>he supposed to reconcile this with what he’d seen of Boba? Din wanted to kiss him, to catch him at his softest and most tender, and ask him <em>do you know you don’t have to be like that? </em></p><p>When Paz returned, the conversation about Boba’s unbearable nature mercifully died out, and Din was able to work in peace until the courier arrived after lunch with the requested files. Din moved to pick up one of the two boxes, and his heart sank when he saw Toro leap to his feet to grab the other. </p><p>“I’ll just come back for it,” he said, and Toro shook his head. </p><p>“No worries, man! Let me join the club!” </p><p>Din groaned, but couldn’t think of a way to deter Toro from following him down the hallway. When he knocked on Boba’s door and opened it, he didn’t even have a chance to speak before Toro called out “files have arrived!”</p><p>Boba looked up from his computer screen, and his face fell when he saw Toro hovering over Din’s shoulder. “On the table is fine,” Boba said, as Toro nudged past Din into the office and headed for the round table to set down the box he was holding. “I need all the BIMO records pulled.” </p><p>Normally, if it was just Din, Boba would have joined him at the table. Din could have been spending the late afternoon right beside him, could have nudged Boba’s knee with his own and then leaned in to kiss him. Boba would be blushing afterwards, hands in his lap like he could hide that he got hard whenever Din kissed him, would give him shy, hopeful looks – but no. Instead, Din was stuck with Toro, Boba remaining across the room at his desk, Toro practically narrating his entire process. </p><p>“Think this counts?” Toro asked, holding up a file. </p><p>“Dunno,” Din muttered, didn’t lift his head. </p><p>“It’s a post-inspection findings report. Not strictly recommendations, but–” Toro squinted at the paper. “Hey,” he started, turning towards Boba’s desk. Din sighed. Toro was up to five interruptions, and Boba was getting testier by the minute. </p><p>“Get out,” Boba said flatly, cutting him off this time. </p><p>“I, um, what?”</p><p>“I can’t get anything done while you’re here. Get out.” </p><p>“I’m sorry,” Toro babbled, standing, “we can go back to the war room, it’s cool, I’m sure they miss us, right? The team can get back together again!” he said, and Din wasn’t sure if he was supposed to go too, reluctantly pushed his chair back, started to get up. </p><p>“Not you,” Boba said, and Din breathed a sigh of relief. </p><p>If Din was being honest, he was pretty relieved to see Toro go, too. He felt slightly guilty for sending him back to the war room to irritate everyone there, but the guilt evaporated almost as soon as the door closed behind him, leaving Din alone with Boba. </p><p>“He just doesn’t <em>stop,” </em>Boba muttered, rubbing his temple and sighing. “Sorry. If you wanted to go, too – I, I don’t know what you want, but you can – can do what you want?” </p><p>“Sure,” Din said, standing, “I’ll just go ahead and do what I want, then.” He tossed his pen back onto the table and strode over to Boba’s desk, leaned down with one hand on the office chair armrest and cupped Boba’s cheek with the other. Being so assertive made Din’s heart race, but the way Boba looked at him, pleading and hopeful, Din was hit with a rush of confidence. “This is what I want,” Din said, because Boba was still looking at him like he was waiting for an answer, like he had no idea that Din had spent all afternoon just <em>wanting him. </em></p><p>“Oh,” Boba breathed. Din finally kissed him, licked past his lips and kissed him until he was squirming beneath Din. He was nearly panting when Din drew back, giving Din a look full of desperation. The most gorgeous man Din had ever seen, and he was looking at Din like <em>that. </em>And Din wanted it to be hard to picture, him being the asshole everyone said he was, but this, the vulnerability that showed on his face when Din was kissing him, it made it <em>easier. </em>Din could see him fiercely hiding this, because it took so much work to uncover at all, because it was so very <em>soft</em>. </p><p>“Next time he tries to come with me, I’m going to lock him in an office.” </p><p>“That’d – that’d be fine,” Boba said, as though Din was presenting a plan for review. Din dropped his hand down to Boba’s lap, traced his fingertips over the hard line of his dick, and Boba gave a strangled sound. “This time, I want – I, I could–” Din wasn’t sure what he was getting at, though the blush rising on Boba’s face gave him a hint. Boba touched Din’s hip tentatively, slid his fingertips millimeter by millimeter towards Din’s erection, which twitched eagerly at his almost-touch. </p><p>Of course, of <em>course, </em>the phone on the desk rang before Din got to do anything he wanted. Boba groaned, reached to pick it up; he shifted uncomfortably in his chair, and Din grinned. </p><p>“Fett,” Boba answered the phone, rubbed the back of his neck. “Fine. He’ll be there in a few minutes.” He hung up, looked back up at Din. “Paz needs you. Interrogatories, or something.” </p><p>“You weren’t listening?” Din teased. “I should go, then.” He glanced down, wondered how exactly he was supposed to just walk into the conference room when he still had a hard-on. Maybe he could just – what, sneak into the bathroom on the way, and jerk off? Not his best idea. </p><p>“So that’s… a problem,” Boba said, apparently on the same wavelength. Or – maybe he wasn’t, exactly, because his next move was to slide off his chair and sink to his knees on the floor. Din could barely register what was <em>happening, </em>watching in disbelief as Boba unbuckled his belt for him. “If that’s – if it’s okay...” Boba glanced up at him nervously, hand pausing on Din’s zipper. </p><p>“Completely okay,” Din managed, because how could it <em>not </em>be? He thought he might come the second Boba touched him, just from the sight of Boba on his knees, undoing Din’s pants and looking up at Din like <em>that. </em>He only had a few minutes before Paz would be expecting him, but at this rate, that wasn’t going to be a problem; within moments of having Boba’s mouth on his dick, Din was right at the edge, stifling moans and clutching the edge of the desk to keep himself standing. </p><p>“Fuck, baby,” Din gasped, as Boba wrapped a hand around him and gave a few slick strokes that had Din trembling, before licking over the head and then swallowing him down again. It had been a while since Din had the mind-numbing pleasure of having his dick sucked, but he didn’t remember it being <em>this </em>good, and maybe that was because it was Boba, who was gorgeous and giving him the shyest looks and doing things that <em>ruined </em>Din. “<em>Fuck</em>, I’m –” He came before he could even get the words out, had to press a hand over his mouth to keep himself from crying out. “Well,” he panted, “sure solves that problem, huh?” </p><p>“You’re welcome,” Boba said, sitting back on his heels, looked like he might be blushing again. Din rezipped his pants, still trying to catch his breath. </p><p>“What about you?” </p><p>“I’m fine,” Boba said, though Din could clearly see the shape of his dick through his suit pants and wanted badly to touch him. Boba stood, readjusting his erection in his pants, gave a quick inhale when he touched himself just slightly. “Any longer and they’ll come look for you.” </p><p>“Okay, well, don’t think I won’t make it up to you.” Din tipped Boba’s chin up and kissed him, Boba giving a particularly needy whimper that made Din want to call Paz back and tell him to go fuck himself because Din had more important things to do. </p><p>When Din got back to the conference room, he tried not to look like he was sulking about returning. He slumped into the chair beside Cara’s, accepted the stack of papers Paz handed him. </p><p>“Didn’t think you’d make it out alive,” Cara said, and Din gave a grumbling sound he hoped came across as agreement. “What’re you doing for dinner tonight?” </p><p>“Nothing planned.” </p><p>“Why don’t you come over? Leia’s cooking!” </p><p>“Of course Leia’s cooking,” Din said, grinned despite his surly mood. “If you tried, you’d burn the house down.” </p><p>“You drop one oven mitt into the oven, and suddenly everyone’s a fireman.” </p><p>It gave Din something to look forward to after work, although a few hours later, just as he was preparing to leave the office with Cara, his phone buzzed with a text from a number he didn’t have saved. </p><p>
  <em>Do you have dinner plans? And before-dinner-arrives plans? </em>
</p><p>Din’s heart raced immediately, telling him exactly who the text was from. He smiled down at the screen, nearly stumbled into a doorway as he followed Cara to the elevators. </p><p><em>I’m busy tonight but it can be another thing i make up to you, </em>he texted back. </p><p>“You okay?” Cara asked, as the elevator pinged its arrival. </p><p>“What?” Din glanced up from the screen. She beckoned him into the elevator, and he joined her, glancing back towards the offices, though he still saw no sign of anyone else. His phone buzzed again. </p><p><em>I’d like that, </em>the new text read. </p><p>Cara and Leia’s house was as warm and welcoming as ever; Din tried to just enjoy the evening and not keep checking his phone to see if Boba had texted him again. He managed to cut it down to only twice every half hour, though the sixth or seventh time he pulled it out of his pocket to check, Cara swatted at his head as she walked past the couch to hand Leia a cup of tea.</p><p>“Who’s the lucky guy?” she asked, and Din felt himself blushing, shoved his phone into his pocket without checking the screen again. </p><p>“What? Nothing.” </p><p>“You mean, no one?” Leia teased. “You’re blushing!” </p><p>“No, I’m not,” Din protested, “it’s no one!” </p><p>“Okay,” Cara dropped onto the couch beside him, nudged him gently. “I hope <em>no one </em>is making you happy.” </p><p>“That sounds so dark, when you put it like that,” Leia said thoughtfully. She blinked innocently at Cara over the rim of her mug when Cara glowered in her direction. “What’s up, honey bunch?” Leia grinned from ear to ear.</p><p>“You know what I meant,” Cara said, and Leia laughed. It always sounded more delighted, when Cara was the one making her laugh; there were a lot of little things about their marriage like that, and all of them made Din ache to have someone similar in his life. He slid his phone out of his pocket again, reopened the text thread, and sent a message of his own. </p><p><em>I miss you, </em>he texted Boba, slipped his phone back into his pocket and kept his hand over it, waiting to feel it buzz again. </p><p>It took nearly half an hour; Din hadn’t exactly talked himself into regretting what he’d sent, but his hands were shaking a little as he fumbled for his phone again. When the message preview showed a much longer text than he’d been expecting, he put it away again. What if it was <em>bad? </em></p><p>“Just a sec,” he mumbled to Cara, who was zipping through the Netflix queue, insisting to Leia that she knew exactly what the movie <em>looked </em>like but not its name, and Din scooted around the couch and went to the bathroom down the hallway, closed the door behind himself before he took his phone back out. In his experience, long texts weren’t exactly good news, and he was having flashbacks to a breakup email he’d once received as he unlocked his phone again. </p><p><em>I wish you were here with me, </em>Boba had sent, <em>it felt empty here before, but now that I know exactly what I’m missing, it’s both better and worse. Kind of like how I can’t go into my office anymore without feeling like you’re missing from it. </em></p><p>Din’s heart raced at the words, and he kept reading them, over and over. Whatever he’d been expecting, it hadn’t been <em>this, </em>hadn’t been something so heartfelt and – and <em>articulate, </em>was the funny thing, Boba always seemed so tongue-tied around him, such a contrast to the way he was at work, and the peek into what he might have been wanting to say to Din all along – Din was probably beaming down at his phone screen, and he was grateful that he’d stepped away from the living room, because the look on his face would probably give it away. Worst-case scenario, he’d been expecting a breakup text, and best case had been, like – probably something filthy, and this was <em>better, </em>was unthinkable. </p><p>He tilted his head back against the door, looked back at the phone screen, tried to figure out what to possibly reply. It was hard to find a happy medium between <em>yeah? </em>And <em>I am completely gone over you. </em>He didn’t want to take so long that Boba would think even for a second that sending it had been a mistake, either. </p><p><em>I’ll fix that as soon as I can, </em>he replied, because it was the strongest thing he felt, because all he wanted to do was be there with Boba, where he wanted to belong. </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Chapter 5</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
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</p><p>Early Saturday morning, Boba was woken by his phone ringing. He knew it would be work without having to look at the number; not like anyone else was calling him, generally. He pushed himself up and grabbed the phone off the nightstand.</p><p>“Fett,” he answered, rubbing his face and stifling a yawn. </p><p>“This is Mace Windu,” the voice said, and Boba was already filled with dread. The lead prosecutor, calling him first thing in the morning, wasn’t going to have <em>good </em>news. Windu calling him was <em>rarely</em> good news. “I wanted to notify you that we haven’t been able to get in touch with Martin Pershing in ten days.” </p><p>Boba bit back several curse words. The <em>fucking scientist. </em>If he’d taken off, Boba was going to track him down and –</p><p>“I’m sorry to hear that,” he said, “I’m sure we’ll be able to sort this out. Thank you for letting me know, I’ll update you when he’s located.” </p><p>After he’d hung up, he took a few breaths, tried not to think about how well and truly <em>fucked </em>they would be if their key witness had taken off. He was suddenly too full of nervous energy to be in bed any longer, started pacing by the window as he scrolled through his contacts until he reached the scientist’s lawyer and hit dial. </p><p>“You’ve reached–” Bib Fortuna began, sounding more awake than Boba had felt when <em>he </em>was called. </p><p>“I know who I’ve reached!” Boba snarled, “Where the <em>fuck </em>is Martin Pershing? Because wherever he is, the prosecution can’t seem to <em>find him!” </em></p><p>“I am... in the process… of locating him,” Fortuna said slowly, which somehow only served to make Boba more irate. </p><p>“<em>Expedite </em>the process! I’m coming to Seattle, and you’d better have him in your office by the time I get there.” </p><p>Almost the moment he’d hung up on Fortuna, Boba’s phone buzzed again; he was ready to snatch it up and pitch it off the balcony, right up until he noticed Din’s name on the text. </p><p>“Oh, thank God,” Boba mumbled; he’d had his fill of bad news for the day, and he’d only been awake for ten minutes. Din’s text read <em>so if I came to your place right now, would you let me in? </em>and Boba had never been so upset to be called in to work unexpectedly before. He’d never really <em>minded </em>it before, either, never had anything he cared to do outside of work. Normally, working on a Saturday was better than sulking at home alone. But – but today he could have seen <em>Din. </em>Boba was tempted to throw the phone all over again out of frustration.</p><p><em>I have to go to Seattle today, </em>he typed out, and without his permission he was picturing going with Din, going somewhere and not being <em>alone. </em>Picturing being on a plane and sitting beside someone who’d let him sleep on their shoulder, and now he was just making himself dread the airport even more, because Din wouldn’t be there. <em>Work. Will explain later, </em>he added, and then paused, thinking about what he wanted to say. His gaze drifted from the screen back to the bed, vast in its emptiness. He sighed, leaned a shoulder against the cold window. At least it was easier to get the words out over text; he couldn’t stammer and forget how to string sentences together, unnerved by a self-conscious worry that he was doing something wrong. </p><p><em>I never used to mind working on the weekend, but today I hate it, because I’d rather be with you, </em>he finally concluded, and hit send before he could talk himself out of it. He tossed the phone onto the bed so he wouldn’t be tempted to do something stupid, like promise to be back tonight, tomorrow morning, something desperate and helplessly needy. No doubt it would be an overnight at least, and he tried to stop himself from sulking about the loss of his weekend, but it was a pointless endeavor. </p><p>He got caught up in getting ready to leave, showered and dressed, and then called the firm’s travel line while he packed so they could get him on the next flight to Seattle. He snatched his phone back off the bed and headed out. </p><p>Once at the airport, it was a struggle not to be surly towards everyone he spoke to between the check-in desk and the terminal gate. He just didn’t want to <em>be </em>there, didn’t want to be in the airport on Saturday morning when he could have been home, and it was a new level of frustration he wouldn’t normally be feeling. He was already furious about the actual fiasco, but that had somehow fallen to the wayside – a crumbling case, and it was the second most upsetting thing to be happening. </p><p>Boba didn’t check his phone until he was on the plane, waiting for passengers to be seated before takeoff. There was nothing; he turned it off, heart sinking, and gazed unseeingly out the window as the plane took off. </p><p>It was petulant, but Boba didn’t turn his phone back on even after landing. He wouldn’t be able to focus, if he saw there was nothing from Din. At least this way, he could hope Din would text him; if he knew Din hadn’t, he’d be able to think of nothing else, would be mentally berating himself for being so forward and needy. All Boba could do was throw himself into the work disaster at hand: the scientist had disappeared, and Fortuna was looking at Boba across the desk like he knew something he thought Boba might kill him for. </p><p>“Where is he?” Boba ground out. Fortuna looked mildly terrified, which was satisfying. </p><p>“He <em>could </em>still be in Seattle,” Fortuna said, spreading his hands innocently. Boba glowered. “He did… buy a plane ticket. But we don’t know that he got on the plane!” </p><p>“Oh, really? Then what was the ticket for?” Boba snapped. “Peace of mind? Retail therapy? People buy tickets and then they <em>get on the plane, </em>Fortuna! Because they’re <em>going somewhere! </em>So where the hell is he?” </p><p>“His flight was to the, uh. Lviv,” Fortuna said matter-of-factly. Boba clenched his teeth. </p><p>“You will forgive me,” he spat, “for not knowing where the <em>fuck </em>that is. Is it a very nearby, very accessible suburb of Seattle? Because if it <em>isn’t, </em>we’re going to have a <em>goddamn problem!” </em></p><p>They did have a problem. The scientist had fled for the Ukraine, and Boba spent a tense, frustrating afternoon at Fortuna’s office, as Fortuna tried to get in contact with Pershing. </p><p>“It’ll be fine,” Fortuna kept insisting, even as he was on hold with a Private Investigator, because <em>that </em>was what they had to resort to, “it’ll be fine!” </p><p>“If you say that one more time,” Boba snarled, and it was enough to make Fortuna go quiet for at least a little while. PI or not, they weren’t going to be dragging the scientist back from the Ukraine anytime soon. That asshole, and all his valuable testimony, was firmly out of reach, and acquittal was quickly moving in that direction, too. </p><p>By the time he finally left, it was fully dark outside, raining steadily. Boba lingered in the building lobby, finally had to turn his phone back on so he could get an Uber back to the hotel. He sat on the edge of one of the couches, knee bouncing nervously as he waited for the phone to power on.</p><p>And – nothing. There was nothing. Boba drew in a shaky breath, swiped away the message screen so he could stop seeing his last text. What had he been thinking? Din was being flirty, and Boba had gotten much too serious. Like Din wanted to know that Boba missed him this much, and he probably thought it was pathetic that Boba was so upset by something as stupid as an unexpected work trip. Well – Din was too sweet to think of it like that. He’d probably just pity Boba for his overly sensitive reaction, and that was somehow even worse. </p><p>Boba looked out the wall-to-wall windows at the heavy downpour outside; he just… didn’t want to be alone. When had that become so unbearable? He just didn’t want to be alone, thinking about how he’d surely fucked up with Din. </p><p>There was one person he could call, maybe. He thought about doing that every time he was in Seattle, because - why not? His half sister lived in Seattle, he could see her for dinner while he was in town, normal siblings did that. </p><p><em>I’m in Seattle, would you like to get dinner maybe? </em>He typed out, stared at it for a few long moments before he hit send. </p><p>Boba’s relationship with his half-siblings was complicated; if he was being particularly self-loathing, he’d call it non-existent. He was the third of five, and the only one who had grown up with Jango; Ventress was the oldest, and when Boba was young, she was the only one who had ever come to spend a few school breaks with Jango in San Francisco. By the time he was a teenager, she’d stopped coming. </p><p>He’d seen his four half-brothers only periodically over the years, had always shied away from how much louder and more rambunctious than him they were. Ventress, at least, had once been nice to him, at least before she’d stopped coming and ignoring any messages he sent to her. But Boba was in Seattle and alone, and when he was little Ventress used to lead him by the hand back to bed when she found him crying quietly in the hallway outside his dad’s room. He couldn’t remember now, why he wouldn’t ever go in to his dad’s room. Maybe he’d been too small to reach the door handle, or maybe he’d already learned that his dad wouldn’t be as comforting as he was hoping, but Ventress would take his hand and tuck him into bed again. </p><p>He flinched when his phone buzzed in his hand, and for a moment he was so hopeful – </p><p><em>No thanks, </em>Ventress had sent. Which – that was fine. It was fine. It didn’t even hurt that badly, he hadn’t <em>expected </em>her to say yes, he just – just hoped she would.</p><p>So he had nowhere else to go. That was fine, that was expected. He shouldn't have been feeling <em>alone</em> as he got an Uber to the hotel and retreated to his room to order in dinner and frantically put together a plan for when the scientist inevitably stayed in the Ukraine.</p><p>When his phone pinged again, he learned that the brief period where he felt hopeful at a new text was long gone, and the dread was back. Fittingly, too, because it was another reply from Ventress that just said <em>why? </em>and just the one word was enough to feel like she was trying to hurt him, reaching through the phone to choke him without even having to touch him.</p><p>If she had to ask, he wasn't going to explain it; if his motives were that baffling, there was no point, and he left her message alone at the end of the thread, no reply needed. He felt ridiculously like crying, like that was going to help any of it. Nothing had <em>changed </em>about his life, why it was suddenly so much harder to bear was beyond him.  He'd never had someone at home wanting him there, he'd never had family who liked him, this shit wasn't new and his recent inability to handle it wasn't helping. </p><p>It rained steadily all evening. Boba tried to drown himself in case prep, and when that didn't fully work, flipped through TV channels until he found adequate background noise. His phone buzzed after another half hour and he ignored it, sure it was either more dismal news or just work tedium. He’d have let it sit on the nightstand all evening, if it hadn’t buzzed again, and again. Finally, Boba sighed and grabbed it off the nightstand. </p><p>There were three texts from Din, and Boba was surprised by how quickly he could feel wracked with anxiety, just at seeing Din’s name back on his screen. He was already mentally composing an apology for his earlier text – <em>sorry if I came on too strong, sorry for making you uncomfortable, sorry for </em>– as he opened Din’s messages. </p><p>
  <em>Left my phone in an uber this morning and getting it back has been a WHOLE THING. Sorry for disappearing!</em>
</p><p>
  <em>How’s Seattle? I wish you were with me instead </em>
</p><p>
  <em>You’re not missing much here, although i am making pizza, which is pretty impressive. The dough being premade is irrelevant to how impressive it is </em>
</p><p>The third was accompanied by a picture, Din beaming at the camera, standing in front of a kitchen counter; if it was supposed to show off the actual food, it missed the mark since it was all out of the frame, but Din and his brilliant smile and tousled hair and dimples should have been the whole point, anyways. And – and he was still out there. Still texting Boba back, still willing to talk to him, Boba had panicked himself into hysterics for nothing. It would take a while for his still-racing heart to catch up, but he kept telling himself <em>it’s fine, it’s fine, </em>because somehow, it <em>was. </em></p><p><em>Seattle sucks. I wish I was with you, too, </em>he replied, and before he could even set the phone down, it was <em>ringing, </em>Din was calling him, and there was absolutely no way Boba was capable of talking to him on the phone. </p><p><em>Call me i’ll make it worth your while, </em>Din texted after a couple minutes had passed, and Boba wanted to, but – but more accurately, he wanted to be someone who could <em>do </em>that. He just got so fucking <em>nervous, </em>talking to Din. Suddenly, he forgot everything he wanted to say, and the voice in his head saying <em>why would he want to talk to you? </em>would get so loud, he couldn’t string together a sentence. Maybe that was for the better, because the less Din knew him, the longer it would take for him to realize there wasn’t much to him, certainly nothing likeable. </p><p><em>I’m terrible on the phone, </em>Boba finally typed out, because Din at least deserved an explanation, <em>I get so nervous already and feel like an idiot every time I talk to you, and it’d just be worse over the phone. </em>That was too much, <em>way </em>too much, and he sent it before he could talk himself out of it, because Din deserved to know that it wasn’t <em>him. </em></p><p>Five long minutes passed, and Din replied nothing. Boba turned the phone over and over in his hands, and then finally reopened messages again, added, <em>I’m sorry. Having a bad night. </em></p><p>This time, Din’s reply was immediate, a <em>what’s wrong??? </em>quickly followed by <em>unless it’s confidential work stuff, don’t feel bad if you can’t tell me. </em></p><p>Incredibly, the absolute disaster the case was turning into was only the third or so worst thing about the evening; he could <em>handle </em>that, was the difference. He couldn’t really handle feeling pathetic for being so bad at talking to Din, or the swift, cold rejection from his half-sister to even see him for dinner. Paired together, and he felt unlikeable and unwanted, and what the hell could he <em>do </em>about that? The case had an answer, somewhere. This didn’t. </p><p><em>It’s not a big deal. I have a half sister who didn’t want to see me while I’m in town. Doesn’t really matter, </em>he texted back, though it wasn’t like there was anything Din could say to make it better, wasn’t a point to telling him something that would just make him see more of what made Boba so unlikeable. </p><p><em>Baby :( </em>was Din’s reply. It didn’t magically fix everything, but it did make Boba bury his face in his hands and cry for a while, and maybe he did feel a tiny bit better, after that. </p><p> </p><p>Boba was stuck in Seattle seemingly forever; Sunday was eaten up by another meeting spent terrorizing Fortuna into understanding how dire the situation was and forcing him to follow every lead he could think of to locate Pershing, and then Boba’s flight home being delayed over and over by fog at SFO. He didn’t get home until after eleven, and by then, he was so tired that all he could do was collapse in bed. He had no reason to feel so wrung-out after a technically uneventful weekend, but between spilling far too much to Din over text and being tied up in knots at the prospect of seeing him in person after saying so much, Boba had nothing left to keep himself going. </p><p>    On Monday morning, he slept through his alarm and woke up late. He was only fifteen minutes later than intended, but it started his morning off with a nervous, panicky feeling that he couldn’t shake. On his phone, Din’s last text was still waiting for him; <em>can I see you when you get home? </em>Boba hadn’t responded and still felt like he should at least acknowledge it, but the idea of seeing Din so soon – surely, he’d be able to take one look at Boba and know that one text from Din had made him dissolve into tears, that Boba didn’t even know if it was because Din had been so sweet or because Boba was so undeserving of it. He <em>wanted </em>to reply, because it was worse, to have left it entirely unaddressed – something, anything, even something stupid like <em>my phone died </em>had to be better than just leaving it there. If he didn’t text it, there wouldn’t be time for Din to forget whatever he said, and Boba might even have to say it out loud, and that was unthinkable, impossible. He could already barely string five words together when Din looked at him; he was so devastatingly kind that Boba just fell apart. And now, now Din would look at him and know <em>so much </em>about him, and Boba was falling apart for real. </p><p>    He still hadn’t figured out anything by the time he got to work, was no less a nervous wreck. He skirted Din’s office on his way in, phone in hand as he tried desperately to think of something to say that would somehow convey that Din’s advances were entirely welcome, even though Boba had ignored them. There didn’t seem to exist any combination of words that could <em>do </em>that. </p><p>“Honey!” Peli’s voice made Boba’s head jerk up, just in time to notice he was about to walk into a partition. He stumbled and avoided running straight into it, though his shoulder still banged against the wall painfully. </p><p>“Morning,” he grunted, rubbing his shoulder. Apparently, he couldn’t manage to text and walk, even when he wasn’t actually typing anything. And – he’d had a coffee cup, when he left the condo, seemed to have lost it somewhere between the car and office but couldn’t remember setting it down. “Did I…?” he turned back towards the hallway, but it wasn’t like he could have set it down somewhere there. Maybe it was back in his car.</p><p>“Lose something?” Peli asked, and Boba blinked at her, tried to remember what he’d been looking for. His coffee, right. </p><p>“Uh, nothing. It’s fine. If you could please, um,” he looked back down at his phone, Din’s text still on the screen. </p><p>“You wanted something?” Peli’s voice startled him again. </p><p>“Did I?” </p><p>“You might want to get it together before you talk to anyone else,” Peli said, but it was gentle, concerned. Boba still didn’t understand how she could stand him when none of his previous secretaries had, but he hoped desperately she’d never leave; he’d been sharp at first, but Peli’s cool “you want to try that again at a lower volume” had cowed him immediately.</p><p>“Just promise me you won’t text and walk down stairs,” she said, still frowning in his direction. “What is going <em>on </em>with you lately, honey?” </p><p>“I don’t know,” Boba’s voice hitched, and he ducked into his office without meeting her gaze again. </p><p>Boba had about a thousand things to do, but first, he sat at his desk for fifteen minutes, figuring out what he wanted to reply to Din. Nothing came to mind, although no less than six emails showed up, each somehow more five-alarm important than the last. He had to tell everyone about Martin Pershing’s disappearance, too. No doubt Paz would promise he could take care of it, as though he were capable of physically dragging the scientist home single-handed, and Fennec would look at Boba as though he’d personally caused this problem by driving Pershing away. And – shit, wasn’t Cara on his team now? She’d always hated him, but at least it was for the same reason as everyone else, because he was an asshole partner, and God, that was so much easier to handle than the whole thing with Din. If <em>he </em>didn’t like Boba, it would be for different reasons. It would be for <em>real </em>reasons, things Boba hadn’t done on purpose and couldn’t help.</p><p>He still had a job to do, and he took five minutes to pull himself together before going to the conference room. As soon as he reached the doorway, Paz had noticed him and was already calling out “what’s up, Fett! Good to see you!” like the scent of Boba’s cologne induced a Pavlovian fucking response to act like an ass-kissing douchebag. Boba risked a glance towards the conference table, skimmed over Fennec’s cool stare and the junior associates he didn’t remember the names of, and – Din was there. Boba had <em>known </em>he would be, but he was watching Boba and his eyes were full of concern behind his glasses, the look on his face one of such genuine worry; Boba wanted to collapse, preferably into Din’s arms, but mostly somewhere that Din couldn’t see his face and couldn’t look at him. Din <em>knew, </em>knew Boba felt helplessly inept when talking to him, knew all the needy things Boba felt about him. </p><p>Paz was still talking. Boba grit his teeth and tried not to snap at him, to tell Paz to stop trying to <em>impress </em>him, because what did it matter what Boba thought of him? </p><p>“There’s bad news,” Boba said bluntly instead, since that would achieve the same result. Paz stopped talking. He cast a cursory glance towards the assembled team at the table – Cara, Fennec, the annoying junior associate Toro, the three he usually had, and Din. Boba couldn’t look at Din. “Martin Pershing has left the country. We don’t need to panic yet, and we’ve hired a private investigator to see if we can track him down, but it might not be enough, and we need to be prepared for that. Even if he’s located, we might not be able to bring him back in time for the trial.”</p><p>“That’s in two weeks!” Toro blurted out, and then mercifully understood Boba’s glare to mean that he should stop talking. </p><p>“This is strictly confidential,” Boba said, looking directly at Toro, so he’d understand that he was the one Boba was most concerned would go babbling about this turn of events. “We need to prepare for the possibility that he may not be able to testify, and his deposition may not be enough,” Boba said to Paz, who seemed to be trying to appear unphased. He had a stance for that – arms crossed, chest puffed up, and Boba tried not to sigh. Paz carried his size entirely differently than Din did, though both were much broader than Boba; Paz swaggered like he wanted to constantly remind everyone he was tall and imposing, and Din was – was quieter about it, somehow. Still big and solid, but he didn’t <em>use </em>it; only when he got up close had Boba realized how broad Din’s shoulders were. </p><p>“What?” Boba said, when he realized Paz had asked him something. </p><p>“Does the client know about –”</p><p>“No. He doesn’t need to know yet. This is confidential. If any of you needs a refresher on what that word means,” he added, shooting another look at Toro, “maybe you shouldn’t be here. For now, proceed as normal, and if he still hasn’t been found in a few days, we’ll reevaluate.” </p><p>“Does this mean we would consider a plea deal?” Fennec asked, and Boba did his best not to snarl at the words. A fucking plea deal, that was all he needed. </p><p>“Like I said. If he hasn’t been found in a few days, we will reevaluate.” </p><p>Boba left the room before anyone else could ask questions; Paz could handle them, probably more calmly than Boba could manage at this point. Boba retreated to his office to tackle the suddenly even more staggering workload. </p><p>He waited until four before he called Fortuna for an update, and Fortuna had the audacity to put him on hold while “checking on some inquiries.” </p><p>“Inquiries,” Boba muttered under his breath, hit the button to put the call on speaker so he could turn back to his laptop. “You don’t have any fucking inquiries out. You have a Google search for Lviv, because you <em>definitely </em>didn’t know where that is.” </p><p>The asshole kept him on hold for an hour, and when Boba hung up and called back, the secretary answered, even though it was Fortuna’s direct line, and he was put back on hold. When Boba’s cell buzzed, he snatched it ready to answer furiously, but it was just a text. A text from Din, no less. </p><p><em>Sorry things have gone sideways with the case, </em>it read, <em>I’m here if you need anything. Like… anything. </em>And then, a follow-up, <em>Just tell me if you need me. </em>Din didn’t hate him. Din still <em>liked </em>him. Boba wanted to go straight to Din’s office and – </p><p>“You still there?” Fortuna’s voice came through the phone. Boba tore his attention away from the phone. </p><p>“After being on hold for an <em>hour and a half? </em>You fucking bet I’m still here! Where’s your client, Fortuna?!” </p><p>“In the Ukraine,” Fortuna answered promptly. Boba pinched the bridge of his nose, tried not to lose it. </p><p>“I. Know. That,” Boba hissed. “If you ever put me on hold for two hours again, just to tell me shit I <em>already know, </em>I will not be happy.” </p><p>As soon as he’d hung up on Fortuna, there was a knock on his door, but Boba could tell from the sound that it wasn’t Din.</p><p>“What?” he called, and wasn’t surprised to see Paz open the door. </p><p>Naturally, Paz had come by for an update, as though Boba had any new information, or the desire to rehash the shitty events all over again with him. Paz had a way of overstaying his welcome, not that Boba would ever willingly give him one. He also had a way of catastrophizing while trying to be as cool as possible, which Boba <em>hated. </em></p><p>“We got this, Fett!” Paz said, as he was finally making progress in leaving, “Who cares if the witness disappeared? That won’t stop our team!” </p><p>“Yes, it will,” Boba growled. </p><p>“And who knows! He’ll probably be back just in time! PI’s are killer.” </p><p>God, their <em>best witness </em>was gone. They were fucked. The PI wasn’t going to be able to drag the scientist back from the Ukraine kicking and screaming; he was going to, at best, hand them an address of some shitty hotel room booked under a fake name using cash, and say <em>what am I supposed to do, kidnap the man? </em>with a shrug. </p><p>“Sure,” Boba managed, “Better get to it, Paz.” </p><p>They were <em>fucked. </em>There had to be some way out of it, but he couldn’t think of it just yet. It would come. It had to come. He just hated this part, the part where he had to live in the midst of a disaster until he managed to sort it out. </p><p>It wore on him, and for once, he left work on time; he could tell, when he was hitting a wall. The stress was stifling, and sometimes he could push through it stubbornly, but sometimes he just needed to try and step away from it for a while. His empty, quiet condo offered no distractions, and that was the way it always went – when he got truly desperate, he’d go home, hoping it would somehow be comforting, somehow make him feel <em>better, </em>and it never did. He’d pace around, go downstairs to the gym or pool and try exhausting himself, and when none of it worked, he’d end up in his home office working anyways. Somehow, he always went home believing it would be just what he needed, and it never was.</p><p>Boba leaned back against his front door, looking at the still entryway before him, and pulled his phone from his pocket. <em>Just tell me if you need me, </em>Din’s last text read. Boba swallowed, heart already racing because this was terrifying but he just – </p><p><em>I need you, </em>he texted Din. </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. Chapter 6</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  
</p><p> </p><p>“Oh, my God,” Din blurted out. Beside him, Cara looked up, and Din tilted his phone screen away. “It’s, uh. So late,” Din said, and it even sounded unconvincing to his ears. </p><p>“Subjective,” Zack contributed from a few seats down, to a groan from Ran. </p><p>“Every time someone says that, you don’t have to tell them lateness is subjective,” Ran said. Din ignored them, peeked back at his phone again. </p><p><em>I need you, </em>Boba had texted him. God, the way Boba texted was going to kill Din. It was so <em>different </em>than the way he was in person. His tongue-tied stammering in person was endearing, and now a little heartbreaking, after he’d admitted to how self-conscious it made him, and how Din’s heart had <em>broken </em>when he’d read that, he’d panicked and hadn’t known how to reply – but when he was texting Din, he was so emotionally open in comparison, it floored Din. Suddenly, he understood that Boba missed him, <em>wanted </em>him, that he was miserable over family issues and that his home felt empty to him. It was so hard not to kiss Boba every time Din looked at him, now. </p><p>“Can we go home?” Din whispered to Cara, and she turned to Paz. </p><p>“We done here for the night?” she asked, and Paz waggled his eyebrows. </p><p>“You got places to be, Dune?” </p><p>“I sure do,” Cara said. She stood and shut her folder decisively, Paz looking startled, like he hadn’t actually been giving permission yet. </p><p>“Let’s call it, guys,” he announced, as though it had been his idea originally and he could claim ownership through hasty agreement. Din rushed through collecting his things, frantically going through his Google maps history to try and find Boba’s address while also calling an Uber. He realized he didn’t actually have the address, since Boba had just given him directions out loud, but that didn’t matter, Din would figure it out on the way. Or – well, okay, he had to give an address to the driver, he’d figure it out on the sidewalk, or just choose something that looked close enough, or whatever. He’d figure it out.</p><p>“You’re in a hurry,” Cara remarked when she ran into Din in the elevator lobby, Din waiting impatiently for one of the elevators to arrive, tapping through screens to call his Uber. He’d chosen an address that felt pretty close to the right one, was at least in the right vicinity. </p><p>“No reason. Well, okay, maybe one reason.” Hopefully, she wouldn’t notice that he’d stopped by his office to grab the bag with his change of clothes, though the way she was looking at him told him she had noticed <em>exactly </em>that. </p><p>“Oh really?” She grinned, and Din hated to keep secrets from her, she was basically his best friend, and he <em>wanted </em>to talk about how happy he was. </p><p>“One very… recent, very new-thing reason,” Din said; the elevator pinged, and as soon as they’d gotten on, he pressed the button for the lobby and then the door-close button rapidly so they could get to the lobby without waiting for anyone else. “You know the part where it’s too early to know what’s going to happen? But also, you know that you <em>want </em>something to happen? But you think it’s too early to be feeling like that, but you <em>do, </em>even though it makes you crazy, so–”</p><p>“Din,” Cara laughed, “I knew I wanted to marry Leia two months after meeting her. I know exactly what you’re talking about and it’s totally okay to feel that way.” </p><p>Din blew out a breath, leaned against the back of the elevator. “I like him so much, Cara,” he confessed, and she squeezed his shoulder, smiled at him. </p><p>“Well, he’s lucky to have you. Even if he doesn’t yet realize how <em>much </em>he has you.” </p><p>“Oh, God. So much, it’s stupid.” Din shook his head, felt himself blushing. The elevator arrived at the lobby before he could keep babbling on about Boba, and he said goodbye to Cara, hurried to meet his Uber outside. The best he could do was put in the intersection he remembered being close to Boba’s building, though he couldn’t quite remember if he’d seen it while driving towards or away from it, and while they were stuck in traffic, he scrutinized the buildings they passed to see what looked familiar, and at least quickly figured it out from there, so it wasn’t like he would be wandering around aimlessly once he arrived. </p><p>It was only fifteen minutes from the office, though heavy road construction pushed it to nearly twenty-five, and somehow, it felt both instantaneous and never-ending, the moments between Boba telling him <em>I need you </em>and finally getting to him. Din was stopped short by the lobby of the building for a moment, though; he’d gone in and out through the parking garage last time, and the sprawling marble of the lobby gave him pause. He half thought the doorman might toss him back out, just for how lost he looked. </p><p>“Good evening,” the doorman said, from behind the sleek, modern desk adorned only with a truly gigantic floral arrangement. “May I call a resident for you?” </p><p>“Um, hi. Yes, please. I’m here to see Boba Fett? My name’s Din Djarin.” </p><p>“Of course,” the doorman said, reading off a screen that sat lower than the top of the desk, “Here you are.” Din was on a list? Boba’s list? The doorman picked up a phone and Din tried not to look anxious as he waited for what felt like an overly long time. “You may want to try the gym or pool,” the doorman told Din, “just back through here, and to the left.” </p><p>“Thank you,” Din said; it felt like being set loose in Boba’s home, and his footsteps sounded too loud in the hallway as he turned the corner. When a door to his left opened, Din flinched, but it was a woman in a sports bra and leggings, wearing headphones and giving Din a perplexed look. He tried to glimpse the gym behind her, didn’t spot Boba among the few people in there. Din wouldn’t have minded seeing him working out, his arms were amazing, and – Din’s disappointment was quickly overridden by the realization that if Boba wasn’t in the gym, it probably meant he was in the pool, and Din was going to see him wet and shirtless, which was even better.</p><p>    The pool itself was in an echoing room with a soaring ceiling and a window overlooking a rock-climbing wall. Din’s timing was perfect; right as he came in, he spotted Boba, just climbing up the pool ladder. Dripping wet, pushing his hair back off his face and Din tried not to stare at his arms and his chest and his <em>ass </em>and –</p><p>    “Hey!” he called, and Boba’s eyes went wide at the sight of him. He crossed his arms over his chest and stood there, still dripping, watching Din approach with a lost look on his face. Din wanted to kiss him.</p><p>    “I didn’t think– you, you said – well, you <em>didn’t </em>– and I thought you’re not coming,” Boba said, and it took Din a moment to puzzle that out. </p><p>“I got caught up in getting here,” he said, tried his best not to let his gaze drift obviously. “You said –”</p><p>“I know what I said,” Boba mumbled; his cheeks were turning scarlet. When he turned to grab his towel, Din did his very best not to stare at how his wet swimsuit clung to his thighs. Boba mostly just clutched the towel in front of him instead of wrapping it around himself, ran a hand through his hair. “I’ll go change?” </p><p>“I’ll wait!” </p><p>It only took a few minutes for Boba to go into the locker room and then reemerge wearing a V-neck t-shirt and jeans, hair still damp and dripping from the ends. “You, um. Coming? Upstairs?” Din had never seen him in casual clothing before, and it was a staggering difference from the sharp, expensive suits Din was used to seeing him in. Din was struck with the desire to gather Boba in his arms and <em>kiss </em>him. </p><p>“That’s why I came,” Din said, smiled at him; Boba was nervous, and how had it taken him needing to tell Din that in a text for Din to see it? Boba was nervous when talking to him and Din needed to learn how to comfort him through it. </p><p>He followed Boba to the elevator; there were already two people in it when they got on, so Din waited in silence until they were at Boba’s front door, Boba digging in his pocket for the key before unlocking it. The condo was as luxurious as Din remembered it, though it was hard to look at now that he knew it felt <em>empty </em>to Boba. Boba tossed his keys onto the side table in the entryway and slid a hand into his back pocket as he looked at Din, the other still holding his towel and wet swimsuit wrapped in it; he was miles away from the way he’d been that morning. Still tense, but without the fierceness, the sharp-edged confidence. </p><p>“You,” Din said, stepped closer to him, heard Boba’s small inhale, “smell like chlorine. Maybe you’d like company in the shower?” Din was terrible at texting, but talking to Boba was so easy; while texting, Din lost all bravado he’d ever had, could imagine all sorts of scenarios where he said the wrong thing and Boba withdrew from him. But in person, it was easy, because Din wasn’t alone, was <em>with him. </em></p><p>“That’d be nice.” A fraction of the tension seemed to leave his shoulders at last.</p><p><em>I get so nervous already and feel like an idiot every time I talk to you, </em>he’d sent, and Din wondered if that wasn’t part of it, if his unsureness was in part because he’d finally told Din something real and vulnerable and Din hadn’t been there to hold him after he said it. </p><p>Din toed off his shoes, left his bag by the door and followed Boba down the hallway; he started unbuttoning his shirt as Boba leaned into the shower to turn on the water. The shower was easily triple the size of Din’s at home, with a glass wall and gray tiles; Din was pretty sure the bathroom’s floor tiles were heated, the tile pleasantly warm beneath his feet. </p><p>“Sorry we couldn’t spend the weekend together,” Din said, as he watched Boba adjust the water. “I was looking forward to it.” </p><p>“Me too.” Boba’s voice was soft, almost too quiet to hear beneath the sound of the water. “Seattle was – well. Not where I wanted to be.” </p><p>“Did it rain?” Din asked, and it made Boba smile in that shy way of his, where he’d look away first. </p><p>“Yeah. It rained.” </p><p>“Always did hear that about Seattle.” Din stepped out of his pants and tossed them and his shirt onto the counter; steam drifted from the shower, the air warm on his bare skin. He set his glasses down beside the pile of his clothing, their lenses already clouded in the warm air. “Not much else, though. Just rain and the Space Needle.” </p><p>“All I saw was the rain, the office, and a hotel. So, like almost every other city. Except the rain.” Boba was turning crimson again, and Din couldn’t understand why – at least, until Boba unbuttoned his jeans and pushed them down, revealing that he was wearing nothing beneath them. </p><p>“Didn’t take you for the type,” Din said, grinning. </p><p>“I forgot to bring any with me downstairs,” Boba said, rubbing the back of his neck, “I was, uh. Thinking about other stuff.” Din finally reached for him, grabbed Boba by the hips and drew him closer; he hadn’t gotten to see nearly enough of Boba last time he was here, the bedroom dark and everything so rushed and desperate, and Din wanted to drink in everything, this time. And finally, <em>finally, </em>Din kissed him, Boba immediately whimpering as he did. When Din ducked his head to kiss along Boba’s jaw and down his neck, Boba shuddered. </p><p>“Get in here,” Din said against Boba’s neck, felt how the rub of his stubble made Boba shiver, “I want to lick you <em>everywhere, </em>and you still taste like chlorine.” </p><p>“Okay,” Boba gasped out, and he stepped into the shower, Din pausing only to strip off his boxer-briefs before following. His dick stiffened at the sight of Boba beneath the water, and he couldn’t wait any longer before crowding Boba up against the wall of the shower, Boba sighing a content little sound like he’d been waiting for this. His hips arched closer to Din’s, and the head of his dick rubbed against Din’s thigh, Boba giving a stuttering little whine. </p><p>“I still have to make something up to you, don’t I?” Din murmured, slid his thigh between Boba’s legs as he dipped his head to kiss along Boba’s shoulder. Boba’s touch was tentative, as he slid a hand around the back of Din’s neck, kept his palm there. “From the other day. I really hated to leave you like that, but I promise it’ll be worth it now.” He’d wanted to get on his knees for Boba right there in the office, that afternoon, but this was even better, was just the two of them, was hot water cascading across Din’s back and Boba’s skin bare and warm everywhere he touched. “Just felt so bad, after you were so <em>good </em>to me.” </p><p>Something about that hit Boba the right way, apparently, because he gripped Din’s shoulder and trembled, hips jerking. He was practically riding Din’s thigh, and when Din reached to squeeze the back of Boba’s thigh and urge him forward, Boba’s responding moan was desperate. It was all Din could do not to come immediately, from the overwhelming combination; his dick twitched helplessly, leaking precum that made his tiny thrusts against Boba’s abs slick and frictionless. Boba was just so – so <em>needy, </em>so desperate for it, and Din wanted to somehow give him everything, bring him off hard and fast and satisfying, but also take him apart slowly, lavish attention until he couldn’t take it anymore. Maybe he could manage both, because <em>God, </em>he wanted to do that.</p><p>“You want to come like this?” Din said against Boba’s ear, and Boba gave a breathy moan Din took as a yes. His cock was so hard it ached, but he could wait, could watch Boba do this for-fucking-ever, the way he buried his face against Din’s shoulder, grinding against his thigh frantically. </p><p><em>“Please,” </em>Boba choked out, his hands sliding down to Din's sides so he could cling to Din, keep him close. Like Din could ever step away, ever stop touching him when he was this lovely a mess. Din kept stifling the things he wanted to say; it was like he had a new instinct suddenly, a murmur that told him <em>he's not ready for that yet, </em>and it was thrilling even as it kept Din quiet, that he even knew that much. He kept it to himself for the time being, though one day, one day he'd be able to tell Boba, tell him <em>look at you, you're so good for me, you come so easily, </em>filthy things he knew would make Boba self-conscious now but once he'd been with Din longer, once Boba was <em>his, </em>Din was going to tell him how the way he whimpered was earth-shattering and the way he clung made Din's whole gravity change to meet him. </p><p>"That's so good," Din allowed himself, "yeah, baby, just like that." Between the warm water and the searing heat of Boba’s skin, Din was hot all over, but he couldn’t bear to step away. When Boba was pressed right up against him, it was more obvious that Din was taller, broader than him, and he loved it, the way Boba fit against him. </p><p>"<em>Din," </em>it was nearly too quiet to hear, Boba's face tucked to Din's neck and his voice muffled, but Din's cock throbbed when he heard Boba groan his name like that. He was doing something very right, he knew that at least. </p><p>“Good, baby, good,” Din crooned; the slide of Boba’s dick against his thigh was driving him wild, slick and fast, and it couldn’t be enough, so Din reached to cover Boba’s dick with his palm, give him something to thrust into. It must have been exactly what Boba needed, because moments later, he was shuddering through an orgasm, clinging to Din so tight he thought it might leave fingerprint-shaped bruises. </p><p>Boba tipped his head back, breathing hard, and when he looked down at the mess left on Din’s thigh, he turned scarlet so fast that Din had to kiss him. </p><p>    “Come here,” Din urged, tried to think beyond the ache in his groin, though kissing Boba only made it better and worse. He showered off, pushed his hair off his face and set a hand on the shower handle. “Good?” Din asked, and Boba’s gaze flickered downwards to Din’s erection. Din grinned. “I’ve got plans.” He shut off the water, and after drying off quickly, the cool air of the bedroom was welcome against his hot skin. </p><p>The first time had been good, <em>so good, </em>but Din hadn’t gotten to do nearly enough. As much as he’d leaned into the frantic, needy pace, what he really wanted was so much slower. And this time, this time it was deliciously slow, Din had Boba laid out on the bed and could take all the time he wanted. The way Boba had whimpered last time had been fraught with need, but this time, this time he was relaxed, extra-sensitive and almost, almost overstimulated. His moans as Din fucked him with three fingers were low and constant, and he rocked his hips into it like he just wanted Din to keep going and going. </p><p>    When Din was finally, <em>finally </em>pressing into him, he had to go slowly, keep pausing as every tight, hot inch made him think that he really might come, just immediately lose himself in how <em>good </em>it felt. He stopped once he was fully seated, had to stop and breathe and not move just yet, because after the shower, after <em>this, </em>Din had been on edge for such a long time. </p><p>    “Oh, my God,” he mumbled, gave a tiny thrust and already felt so <em>close; </em>when he shifted and nudged Boba’s thigh back a little, the slightly deeper position made him groan. </p><p>    “Please,” Boba whined, and no matter how many times Din heard him say it, it hit him hard every single time. He nodded, squeezed his eyes shut and tried to give Boba what he wanted without coming immediately. Boba was already getting hard again, as Din gave slow thrusts and changed his angle, looking for the perfect spot that had made Boba come so easily last time. He knew exactly when he found it, from the way Boba gasped. “There, there,” he whimpered, pleading, and he slid his hands along Din’s arms, grabbing for Din anywhere he could reach. </p><p>    Din tried to keep his pace slow, he <em>tried, </em>but Boba was begging and whimpering beneath him, and Din couldn’t help it, couldn’t help it at all, not when Boba was pleading “harder, please, <em>harder” </em>like that. His pace turned frantic-fast, especially when Boba reached for his own dick and started jerking himself off at the same time, the sight of his hand sliding along his cock, fingers sticky with precum spurring Din on. He couldn’t help but come, shaking with it, fucking Boba through it until the overstimulation was nearly enough to make Din sob. </p><p>    “You just,” Din panted, “just feel so good.” </p><p><em>    “Oh,” </em>Boba’s moan sounded torn out of him, and he spilled over his hand almost immediately. He blinked up at Din, something on his face shifting towards nervousness. “Please don’t leave this time,” he said, faint. God, Din had fucked up last time, already conditioned him to think that the moment Din came, he’d take off; no wonder Din climbing off him now made him panic. </p><p>    “I’m not going anywhere,” Din promised. He wanted to lean down and kiss Boba’s face, promise over and over, but Boba was looking away like he’d rather not acknowledge it, so Din leaned over to grab one of the towels that had been left on the floor. How had he even been <em>able </em>to leave, last time? Boba was irresistible like this, fucked-out and tired, no trace of his usual tension left. “I left my spare clothes in the entryway,” he added, wanted to give Boba the tangible proof that he’d never intended to leave again, as Boba sat up ran his fingers through his wet hair. </p><p>    “You brought clothes?” </p><p>    “Not to be presumptuous, but,” Din shrugged, grinned at him. “I’ll be right back. I don’t suppose your, I don’t know… next-building neighbors can see into the windows?” </p><p>    “I don’t exactly walk around naked, so I never noticed,” Boba said, but he still looked something like delighted, at the sound of Din’s plan to stay the night. </p><p>    Din grabbed a towel to wrap around his waist before he left the bedroom, not eager to find out if anyone in the nearby buildings <em>could </em>see in. He retrieved his bag from the front hall, returned to the bedroom. Boba was already mostly dressed, back in jeans and a t-shirt, holding a sweater in one hand and Din’s glasses in the other; he offered the glasses to Din, and when Din took them, he leaned in to kiss Boba again. </p><p>“Are you also starving?” he asked, and Boba nodded, pulling the sweater on; it was so soft, it had to be cashmere, and clung to his chest in a way that made Din want to take it right back off him, might have if he wasn’t so recently exhausted. </p><p>“I’ll find something to order,” Boba said, but he didn’t go far, just sat on the side of the bed with his phone in hand, as Din dressed in the spare clothes he’d kept at his office. He’d started keeping casual clothes in a duffle bag at the office, after he had an after-work dinner date once and had subsequently ruined a pair of expensive-for-him suit pants by spilling salsa on them. It wasn’t his finest moment, but it also wasn’t even the low point of the date, which had been with a man who spent the entire time talking about hedge funds. Din had left swearing to himself that he wouldn’t date anyone in finance ever again, and that if he was invited to a date he couldn’t wear jeans to, it probably meant they were a bad match.</p><p>And yet, there he was, in a multi-million-dollar condo with a view of the Bay Bridge, dating a partner who – <em>were </em>they dating? Din’s hands faltered on the button of his jeans, and he watched Boba across the room for a moment. He wasn’t… wasn’t exactly Din’s type, as far as dating went. His reputation for being an asshole preceded him, and his job was centered around enabling white-collar criminals to walk free, but he didn’t <em>feel </em>like the other guy had, didn’t feel wrong. But they weren’t dating, anyways. Except – except every morning, Din wished he was waking up beside Boba, and Din melted at every soft thing Boba said to him.</p><p>Din tried to put the thought away, because he just didn’t know what to <em>do </em>with it. He didn’t have to define it to know how it made him feel, anyways; they had dinner together and ended up drinking Boba’s favorite red wine out on the balcony, and Din wasn’t sure how something could feel both thrillingly new and comfortingly easy, how he could feel amazed that Boba was here but also like he <em>belonged </em>with Din. </p><p>“Not to make you think about work,” Din said after a while, when they were looking out at the lights on the Bay Bridge and the dark water beneath it, the sounds of traffic floating far below them, “but you just seemed… really stressed, today.” </p><p>It still lingered, was why he brought it up. Boba still carried a slight tension in his shoulders, an anxiety in his eyes, and Din was pretty sure it <em>wasn’t </em>work, but didn’t know how else to get close enough to ask. Boba shrugged a shoulder, tilted his head slightly to look at Din and then away again. </p><p>“I guess it was a, uh. Hard weekend,” he said, almost a mumble. There was something to the way he held his shoulders that piqued Din’s interest, like it was trying to tell him something; Din shifted closer on the couch, slid his arm along the back of the cushion, and it took barely a nudge to Boba’s shoulder before he was curling towards Din, letting himself be tucked against Din’s side. Maybe Din was learning to read him; the thought made his heart race, made him bold, and he pressed a kiss to Boba’s hair that earned a tiny whimper from Boba. “Not really work,” Boba added, very soft. “Technically.” </p><p>“Is that better or worse?”</p><p>“Worse,” Boba said with a humorless chuckle. “I, uh. Asked my half-sister if we could have dinner, and she said no. And then,” he shook his head, voice tight, “then she said ‘<em>why?’” </em></p><p>“Baby,” Din murmured; the <em>why </em>was clearly what bothered Boba, though Din couldn’t put his finger on what made it so bad, if he was hurt because she didn’t see the point of getting together, or if there was something else. He smoothed his hand along Boba’s arm, thought his heart might beat out of his chest when Boba’s head sunk down to his shoulder. </p><p>“It’s stupid. I should be over it by now, I’m fucking <em>thirty eight. </em>But it’s been – been happening the whole time, it <em>compounds, </em>and I’m the middle of, there’s other siblings? Uh, half, I mean, and they thought there’s a reason, because they didn’t –didn’t live with him, but – but –” He rubbed his hand over his face, and the breath he drew trembled slightly. “This is what I was talking about,” he mumbled. “Can’t even make sense. I’m sorry.” </p><p>“Baby,” Din said, again, but sometimes when he looked at Boba, it was the only word he knew. Even in the dim light, he could see the crimson on Boba’s face. “It’s just me,” Din said, though Boba had told him that was precisely the problem. </p><p>It was a while before Boba tried again; Din kept stroking his arm and waiting, trying to transmit patience. He didn’t <em>want </em>to make Boba so nervous, didn’t know what he was doing to cause it. </p><p>“It’s not a big deal,” Boba finally said. “It just started early and stuck around. I have four half-siblings, and they – they all live with their mothers. I’m the only one that lived with our father, and they all hated me for it, like it was something to be jealous of. They didn’t need to know me to resent me, I’ve always been – what I was going to be. Everything was already decided. <em>I </em>was already decided, and it’s hard to accept sometimes. That’s really all it is.” He slumped down a little, and when he looked up at Din, all Din could do was lean down and kiss him. </p><p>“Are you staying?” Boba asked, “You could – if you want. You should stay.” </p><p>“I’d like to stay,” Din said; it was a Monday night, quickly getting so late that he was sure he’d have trouble waking up on time in the morning, and he didn’t know how to un-awkwardly navigate the situation in the morning to avoid showing up with Boba and telegraphing that they were sleeping together, but – Din couldn’t think any further. They were sleeping together, like it was a regular thing, he could show up at Boba’s home and kiss him and Boba looked at him like he belonged there. It was hard to process anything other than that single, unbelievable fact.</p><p>“Good,” Boba said, ducking his head a little, “every morning, I wish you’d spent the night, so – good. I never get to wake up with anyone.” </p><p>It was somehow more intimate, to follow Boba to bed intending to just sleep; Din crawled under the covers beside him, the room lit only by the city lights far beyond the window, and it was so quiet and still and exactly where Din wanted to stay forever. It was what he should have done, the first time, but at least he was here now, he was here and in the morning, he’d get to wake up beside Boba and kiss him, and how would Din ever be able to look at him again without giving it all away? Now that he’d seen this, now that Din had fallen asleep next to him and knew the way he sighed in his sleep if Din touched him. He could feel himself forgetting how to do anything but gaze at Boba with an awe for this written all over his face. </p>
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<a name="section0007"><h2>7. Chapter 7</h2></a>
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</p><p>The morning was unlike anything Boba had ever experienced. It was a morning he was almost nervous to move around in, everything so unfamiliar to him – Din asleep beside him, grumbling at the sound of the alarm, his hair mussed against the pillow, and Boba was completely thrown, nervously happy and unsure what exactly to do. </p><p>“How early do you get to work?” Din yawned; the sheets pooled at his lower back, and if Boba let himself, he could easily lose an hour to staying in bed with him. </p><p>“Well, the impending disaster on my hands is pretty motivating.” Boba kept looking at him, itched to touch him, but being the first to do so was a difficult obstacle to cross. “Did you, um. Want to shower?” </p><p>“All business already?” Din turned towards him, gave him a sleepy smile that made Boba’s heart skip a beat. “Can the impending disaster wait a minute?” </p><p>“A minute,” Boba said, and then Din was pulling him closer, wrapping his arm around Boba and nuzzling into his hair. </p><p>It was a morning that stayed with Boba long after he’d left his bed and gone into work; he could practically still feel Din’s hands on him, even though he and Din had long since parted ways in the parking garage and gone up separately. It was at least nice not to draw concerned looks from Peli when he passed her desk. Sometimes, she looked at him like she was seeing broken pieces he hadn’t yet realized were there, and he almost felt guilty about it. </p><p>It was nice, though, having his day start from a good place. It made it not matter quite as much, that the case was still quickly falling apart around him. Boba spent the morning and half the afternoon pouring over files, hunting for what he knew was a hail Mary, but it was hard to dissuade himself of the belief that it was out there, even if he didn’t know what form it would take. Just – something, anything, that would make it possible to win despite their best witness having fucked off to Eastern Europe. </p><p>When he finally took a break, mostly to stave off the headache that was threatening, it was already past two, and Peli was giving him concerned looks as he left the office. </p><p>“Tell me you’re going to eat something,” she said, sounding stern. Boba shrugged. </p><p>“I’m getting coffee,” he admitted. “I’ll eat later.” She narrowed her eyes at him, but then the phone was ringing, and Boba slipped out of the reception area and headed towards the coffee bar. He was tempted to stop by the conference room to see Din, but when he gave in and peered through the doorway, only a few of the other junior associates were there, as well as Cara, so Boba left before she could spot him. If Din was alone in his own office, maybe Boba could stop by there, could bring him coffee and say hi, and it felt entirely too bold, entirely too risky, but that morning, Din had been standing in Boba’s kitchen, half-dressed and smiling at him as Boba made coffee, and maybe Boba was brave enough to do it, because of that. </p><p>“Imagine running in to you here!” he heard, tried not to groan out loud at Cobb’s voice. </p><p>“You don’t have to say that <em>every time you see me,” </em>Boba said, didn’t look up as Cobb stepped up beside him. “You know I work here. It can’t be that surprising to see me.” </p><p>“Well, it’s certainly surprising to see you like this,” Cobb said, and Boba finally did look at him, though just to glower. Cobb was picture-perfect as usual, wearing a suit that was a deep, deep green that would have looked ridiculous on anyone else but just looked suave on him. </p><p>“Like what?” Boba asked, when it became clear Cobb wouldn’t just tell him. </p><p>“Oh, come on. Practically heard you humming in the hallways.” </p><p>“I really doubt that.” </p><p>“You’ve definitely been in an uncharacteristically good mood,” Cobb grinned at him; at some point, it had become sharper, less friendly. Boba still thought of him as twenty-five, still thought of the way Cobb would beam at him, no trace of anything but adoration. Maybe that was why Cobb always took Boba off guard now, because Boba was still remembering him as a lovesick twenty-five-year-old and was still terrified of him because of it. </p><p>Boba tried to ignore him, turned away to add sugar to his coffee. He definitely wouldn’t be able to bring Din coffee, with Cobb watching him like that. Maybe he hadn’t ever been going to, wasn’t actually capable of being that forward about this. </p><p>“I’ve seen you win big cases before and barely smile,” Cobb said, following him as he moved to pick up a coffee stirrer. “You must be getting some pretty good dick, if <em>you’re </em>actually in a good mood.” Boba promptly dropped an entire sugar packet into his coffee, paper and all. Was it <em>that obvious? </em></p><p>“For fuck’s sake, Cobb,” he hissed, looking over his shoulder to see if anyone was in earshot. It didn’t seem like anyone else in the room was near enough to overhear, at least. </p><p>“Sounds like a yes to me,” Cobb said conversationally. Boba prodded the sugar packet with the stirring stick, scowling, trying to figure out of denying things would make him sound more guilty. Probably. He knew the way to make Cobb drop it, and it wasn’t denial. </p><p>“What really surprises me,” Boba drawled, meeting Cobb’s eyes, “is that you could tell I’m more into taking it, these days.” Even the tiny, surprised quirk of Cobb’s eyebrow was satisfying.</p><p>Cobb recovered quickly, but Boba knew him, recognized the slight shifting of his jaw as the tell it was. Boba took advantage of the momentary pause and left the room. Without coffee, but the minor heart attack Cobb had given him was enough of an adrenaline boost, and caffeine would just send him over the edge at this point. </p><p>If Cobb could see it, could everyone? It wasn’t like Cobb had some special insight into him; he <em>didn’t </em>understand Boba, that had always been the problem. Cobb had been sweet and charming and happy to go along with whatever Boba wanted, and the problem had been that he’d never <em>understood </em>what Boba wanted. It was like he’d always looked at Boba and seen an entirely different version of him, a version Boba would have <em>preferred </em>to be but was incapable of, and maybe that was why things fell apart the way they did. </p><p>The day took a sharp downturn with a phone call from Fortuna, and barreled steadily downwards from there. The PI had contacted Fortuna and reported that while the scientist had been found, he was refusing to cooperate. </p><p>“I told you he’d say that,” Boba muttered in the direction of the desk phone, unable to help himself. </p><p>“He says he’s established. He has an apartment,” Fortuna said, and Boba honestly couldn’t tell if he was being sardonic or sincere. </p><p>“Do you think I give a shit about his newfound life in Croatia?! I don’t care if he’s gotten married and become the goddamn <em>mayor-</em>” </p><p>“The Ukraine,” Fortuna corrected. Boba’s exhale was a snarl. “But, uh. The PI says he’s at the end of the line, here.” </p><p>“Great.” Boba had already stopped listening, was thinking ahead to the trial postponement he’d have to request - well, <em>today, </em>immediately, and a glance at the calendar told him it would have to be the next day, because Thursday was somehow already Thanksgiving. Boba fidgeted with the cuff of his shirt, fingertips skimming over the monogram; he’d half thought he’d hear from his father before Thanksgiving, to make plans, maybe, or just for the semblance of being a family that saw each other for holidays, even if nothing materialized. </p><p>“–if there’s else I can do,” Fortuna was saying, and Boba ground his teeth at the words. </p><p>“You haven’t done anything useful <em>yet, </em>what makes you think there’s something <em>else </em>you can do?” he snapped, and hung up. </p><p>By the time Boba had scheduled the emergency postponement hearing for the next day, informed the team about the change in plans, and threatened Fortuna with bodily harm if he didn’t send the PI’s signed affidavit as fast as humanly possible, it was past five, and he still had a stack of work from before the entire case had gone sideways. He allowed himself a tiny flicker of hope, though, when he realized that needing someone’s help could mean spending time with Din, but when he called the conference room to have Din come over, Paz announced that he’d be coming as well. </p><p>It wasn’t exactly what Boba had been hoping for. Paz showed up at his office door moments later, Din slinking after him. When he caught Boba’s eye, he smiled; he looked tired, and Boba ached to be in bed with him again, Din murmuring to him sleepily in the dark. </p><p>“Figured if you could use one assist, you may as well get two!” Paz said, in his overly-loud voice that always made Boba want to snap at him to be <em>quieter. </em>Paz set up shop at the round table, Din following suit. Maybe Paz would leave first, Boba tried to tell himself, as he watched Din flip through papers across the room. Slim chance of that happening, given how Paz was on a never-ending mission to impress him, but if he didn’t at least let himself hope he’d get to go to bed with Din at the end of all this, he might fire Paz on the spot. </p><p>When it was just Boba and Din, the evenings went quickly; it was somehow-fleeting hours of work in between moments where Din would lean over to kiss him, like the poignancy of Din’s fingertips touching Boba’s wrist and the softness of his voice somehow compressed the unimportant hours and stretched the blissful moments into a dreamy lull. Boba longed for an evening like that, and it was worse, knowing it was possible, knowing Din was so close it could have <em>been </em>possible; instead, Boba was stuck at his desk, Paz was talking too much, and Din was quietly working with his head down. </p><p>Fortuna emailed him to report that the affidavit had been sent, probably because he’d learned that calling Boba would only result in being yelled at, and that it would arrive overnight. </p><p>“Oh, goddamnit,” Boba mumbled when he read it, regretted speaking when Paz immediately turned towards him. “Someone has to sign for the package,” Boba said, when Paz didn’t stop looking at him expectantly despite a long, silent pause. “The affidavit from the PI, saying Pershing refused to cooperate.” </p><p>“There’s online document signing programs,” Paz said, like Boba might not have heard of that. Boba tried not to sigh. </p><p>“Wet signature only.” Boba turned back to his monitor, squeezed the bridge of his nose and tried to stop thinking about finally going to sleep and about Din holding him in bed, bare chest pressed to Boba’s back, and - Boba felt his face heating at the thought, tried to will away the blush. </p><p>“I’ll stay.” Din’s voice made Boba’s head jerk up, maybe just because he hadn’t heard Din say anything since arriving. Boba tried not to frown at the words; he knew Din had to volunteer, as the junior associate, but - but he’d wanted Din to go home with him. </p><p>“You sure?” Boba asked half-heartedly. He should have known he wouldn’t get to fall asleep beside Din two nights in a row. </p><p>“He’s got this, don’t you, Djarin?” Paz had started gathering up his things, and he was doubtlessly going to expect to walk to the parking garage with Boba; Boba sighed, listlessly pushing papers into stacks on his desk and shoved his laptop back into his bag. “Ready to roll, Fett?” </p><p>“Sure,” Boba said, and then, with a burst of hope, added, “why don’t you go get your things from your office, and I’ll meet you at the elevator.” </p><p>“You got it,” Paz said, and then, mercifully, left the room. As much as Boba had been looking forward to being alone with Din, he was suddenly nervous, watching Din all the way across the room. <em>We were in bed together literally last night, </em>Boba kept reminding himself all evening, to convince himself that Din wasn’t actually cold-shouldering him, was just being professional in front of Paz. </p><p>“Thanks for staying,” Boba said, smoothing his hands along the back of his office chair. “I, um.” He glanced towards the closed door. “Was hoping we’d go home together, so… sorry.” </p><p>“It’s not your fault,” Din smiled at him, “I’ll just sleep in my office and look forward to tomorrow night?” </p><p>“God, yes,” Boba breathed. Din’s smile brightened so much, Boba saw dimples. “You know you don’t actually have to sleep in <em>your </em>office, right?” </p><p>“I don’t?” Din looked so perfectly confused that it was a tragedy that Boba couldn’t immediately kiss him. </p><p>“Just stay here,” Boba said, nodded towards the couch along the window; it was a comfortable one, he’d made sure of it, given how often he’d slept there. Sometimes he just couldn’t bring himself to go home to an empty condo. “Sorry. Again.” He lifted the strap of his bag to his shoulder, and got as far as the office door before he stopped again. “See you tomorrow?” </p><p>“I’ll be here,” Din stepped closer to him, and pressed a quick kiss to his lips. “See you tomorrow.” </p><p>Boba hated to go home without him, hated to go to bed without him; it was different, though, being alone when just last night he’d been with Din, when he’d been promised that Din would be back tomorrow night. Less lonely, somehow. </p><p> </p><p>    When Boba arrived at his office in the morning, it was still early; he hadn’t been able to stay at home, knowing he could be at work, where Din was waiting in his office. He opened the door and peeked in; Din was still asleep, curled on the couch with his glasses sitting on the floor beside it. Boba crept inside, scooped Din’s glasses off the floor and set them on his desk; Din didn’t stir, face buried in the throw pillow. His shoulders were hunched like he was cold, though, so Boba retrieved the blanket from the closet, gently tucked it over Din. </p><p>Din slept soundly, even as Boba got out his laptop and started working. The package he’d signed for was on Boba’s desk, and Boba was able to prepare what he needed for the hearing. When Peli arrived, he stuck his head out of the office to ask her to order coffee, and not to let anyone come into the office. </p><p>It was past their usual starting time, but Boba couldn’t bring himself to wake Din up. It wasn’t like anyone could be upset with him; being the head of the team had to be good for something, if just being able to let Din sleep in. When Din started to shift around, Boba snuck a look over at him. Din pushed himself up, yawning, and when he spotted Boba, he smiled sleepily and for a moment, looked so content and happy. For a moment, until his eyes widened and he looked panicked. </p><p>“Oh, shit, it’s so late,” he was already moving, diving for his phone tucked into the cushion and reaching for the spot where his glasses had been. </p><p>“They’re here,” Boba said, held them out as Din came over to his desk, straightening his shirt and running a hand through his messy hair. “Hey, it’s fine,” Boba said, “Everything’s fine. You’re not late for anything.” </p><p>“No?” Din looked relieved. “Thanks. File came, by the way.” </p><p>“That’s good.” Boba nudged the cup of iced coffee towards him. “That’s for you.” Din beamed at him, and the full-on brightness of it made Boba blush with delight. “We’ll leave for the hearing in an hour.” </p><p>“Great, okay. I have to change clothes,” Din added, looking down at his rumpled shirt. It wasn’t the same as waking up beside him, but Boba was still filled with affection, wanted to kiss Din’s face and smooth down his hair, press close to him before he put on his glasses, because that was when he’d nuzzle into Boba’s neck and nose at his cheek to press kisses there, no lenses to worry about smudging. He hadn’t been able to shave in a few days and might have skipped the weekend too, sporting the patchy stubble that Boba couldn’t help but find handsome. The mustache did him in already, but the beard was almost more than Boba could handle. </p><p>Boba had to leave Din in his office, to check in on the rest of the team, ended up having to sit through Paz’s drawn-out update; how he had so much to tell Boba was unfathomable, since he’d only been at work for a couple hours. </p><p>“Who else is coming with us to the hearing?” Paz asked, as Boba was about to leave. Boba sighed at Paz inviting himself, though he supposed he couldn’t have avoided that anyways, Paz being the junior partner. </p><p>“Bring a junior associate,” Boba said, saw the predictable terrified looks on the faces of the junior associates at the table. “You know what,” Boba added, like it was just occurring to him, “Din’s already collecting the files. Bring him.” Din wasn’t; he was getting dressed in Boba’s office, but Paz didn’t know that. </p><p>“You got it!” Paz called after Boba’s retreating back. </p><p>Boba wouldn’t have minded driving to the courthouse with Din - would have loved it, really – but with Paz accompanying him, that would have meant either Paz bullying his way into the front seat and Din relegated to the back, or Paz side-eyeing him for giving only Din a ride. Boba wasn’t exactly looking forward to the hearing already; asking for a postponement felt pathetic, admitting he’d had his feet knocked out from under him and was struggling, and it didn’t matter that the judge would be an objective third party who didn’t care about Boba one way or another, it would still feel like admitting defeat. He tried not to look like he was dragging his feet when he met Paz and Din out front; he could hear Paz’s voice long before he approached, talking about a football game. Din looked nonplussed, fidgeting with his tie and tugging at his collar like his shirt didn’t fit him right, and it was a <em>struggle, </em>not to kiss him. </p><p>“You ready?” Paz asked when Boba approached, with Boba didn’t dignify with a response. He continued up the front steps, brooding over his argument in his head; there was a very real chance they’d be denied, and he couldn’t blame the judge for that, because the whole thing was so stupid. Their best witness fleeing the country, it was something out of a legal drama, and it was embarrassing that it was happening to him. </p><p>There was a short line at the court clerk’s office; Boba had been tuning out Paz’s voice, but picked up on Din’s quiet “what?” Din was looking at Paz in confusion, Paz smirking. “No, my name doesn’t start with a silent B.” </p><p>“Oh, I thought it might,” Paz was still smirking, clearly building up to something he found hilarious, “you know, because of your shirt.” </p><p>“My what?” Din looked, if possible, even more lost. Paz snickered, and pointed to Din’s left sleeve. And there, embroidered right on the cuff, were the initials <em>BJF. </em>“Uh,” Din was turning scarlet. “I, uh, borrowed it,” Din stammered out, looking over Paz’s shoulder to Boba, panic on his face, “I spilled coffee on my shirt the other day and used my spare, and forgot to replace it. So, I, uh…” </p><p>Boba smiled, helplessly pleased at the thought of Din wearing his shirt. It was clearly too small for Din, the stretch of the fabric over his broader shoulders clear at the collar, but it felt like he was <em>Boba’s, </em>when he was wearing Boba’s clothes. </p><p>“Don’t worry about it,” Boba said, couldn’t add <em>I can’t wait to take it off you, </em>though he was thinking it. Paz looked like he’d lost the thread a while back. </p><p>“You didn’t already know?” he asked Boba; Boba ignored him, grateful that his turn at the clerk’s desk had finally come, and turned away. </p><p>The court clerk told him which courtroom they’d be going to, mentioned that the judge assigned to their upcoming trial had already left for Thanksgiving, and they would have an emergency substitute. </p><p>“Fine,” Boba said, already thinking ahead, wondering if this was better or worse - better, because the judge would be less invested? Worse, for the same reason? </p><p>“Your hearing will be with Judge Fett,” the clerk said, and Boba froze. </p><p>“Isn’t that a… an ethical issue?” he asked, because – that was the problem, the ethics, not that the thought of his father being their judge made him feel sick and anxious. </p><p>“Well, the holiday,” the clerk shrugged, “it’s just for the emergency hearing. The prosecution agreed to it.” </p><p>“Okay,” Boba managed, because he couldn’t say <em>I can’t do that, </em>couldn’t say <em>please don’t make me see him. </em>The good mood he’d had only moments ago had floated away, out of his reach, the looming presence of his father dragging him downwards. </p><p>“No kidding!” Paz crowed as they left the desk, apparently finding this hilarious. “We drew your <em>dad?” </em></p><p>“Your dad?” Din echoed, and oh, God, Din was going to be there, watching Boba’s father treat him like the disappointment he was. Boba felt sick to his stomach at the thought. He needed more time than this to prepare to see his father, needed to <em>not see him at all. </em>Could he just… send Paz in alone? Postpone the postponement? Not postpone at all, and fly to the Ukraine and drag the goddamn scientist back himself? And – and <em>Din </em>was going to be watching. Boba’s father always made Boba feel so… failed. Din was going to see it.  </p><p>Boba glanced over as they waited in the echoing, marble-floored hallway; Din smiled at him, somewhere between shy and affectionate. If they just stayed in this hallway forever, never went inside the chamber – Din would never have to watch Boba’s father treat him like the disappointment he was. Din could never know any more about Boba than he already did, and he could keep looking at Boba like this. If they could just stay –</p><p>The clerk opened the doors to the chamber.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0008"><h2>8. Chapter 8</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>thank you for your patience during this very long break!!! :)))</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The clerk opened the doors to the chamber, and the prosecution lawyers headed in first; much to Boba’s relief, Windu himself hadn’t come, had only sent his underlings to deal with the hearing. One of the women gave Boba a short nod, the other cast him an icy look, and the man following them ignored Boba completely. Boba barely noticed the way the prosecution always looked at him anymore, though he usually spared a thought to wonder if it was a deliberate tactic or something more instinctual. </p><p>They took their seats at the front tables, and Boba had to clasp his hands tightly in his lap to keep himself from fidgeting. The last time he saw his father was... two months ago? Three? Or – July. It would have been July, because it was at a fourth of July event stocked with lawyers and judges. His dad had opened with “work keeping you too busy to meet anyone?” maybe just so Boba would have to admit that yes, he was a workaholic and still single at thirty-eight. </p><p>When Jango entered the courtroom, his face showed no sign of recognition when he looked at Boba. Despite Boba practically looking like his clone, anyone in the room would have probably have been surprised to find out that Boba was his son, given Jango’s placid expression. </p><p>“We’re hearing arguments on the motion for postponement of the trial that has scheduled for two weeks from now,” Jango began, and then he looked right at Boba. Boba wrung his hands beneath the table, tried to breathe evenly. “Defense, this is your motion. Let’s hear what you have to say.” It already sounded dismissive. </p><p>Boba stood, flattened his hands to the desk so it wouldn’t be obvious they were almost shaking. “Your Honor,” he started; he could feel Paz and Din watching him. “We seek to move to postpone the trial currently scheduled for December ninth. A key witness has fled the country, and with more time, we would be able to compel him to return. His testimony is directly relevant to the case, as the head scientist responsible for the trials in question. Without his testimony, our understanding of the progression of these trials would be incomplete, and my client would not be able to clear his na–”</p><p>“I’ve heard enough,” Jango cut in, and Boba tried not to flinch at the sharpness in his voice. Either his father spoke to a courtroom like he was scolding a child, or he’d scolded his son like he was reigning in obnoxious lawyers; it was hard to tell. Boba forced his shoulders back and lifted his chin, fought the urge to shrink away. When he glanced towards Din, Boba found him watching with concern on his face, and had to look away again. </p><p>“Yes, Your Honor,” he managed, and sank back into his chair. Paz nudged him with an elbow, though Boba didn’t know what it was meant to convey, and ignored him. </p><p>“Prosecution?” Jango prompted, and one of the women stood. </p><p>“We have the witness’s deposition,” she stated. “That should be adequate.” She sat back down. Boba already knew what Jango was going to say. </p><p>“Motion denied.” The curtness in his voice was a tone Boba recognized. Jango said <em>motion denied </em>the same way he said <em>that’s your choice </em>when Boba tried to defend his decision to leave his position as an assistant US attorney to do white-collar criminal defense and that it didn’t mean he was a bad person. The same way Jango said <em>I barely knew your mother </em>when Boba asked too many times for details about the woman who’d left Boba with Jango and then died in an accident before Jango could find her and force her to take back her son. </p><p>An affronted huff came from Paz, and on the far side of the table, Din was silent. At least it was over, and Boba could leave before his father said anything deliberately hurtful. </p><p>“Counsel,” Jango said, and Boba’s head snapped up. “Approach the bench.” </p><p>Boba forced himself out of his chair, went up to the bench, tried to tell himself Din wasn’t watching but knew he was. “What?” he asked, voice hushed, and Jango arched an eyebrow. </p><p>“A postponement?” he said, “I suggest you work on your client to accept a plea. This trial would be a disaster, as I’m sure you realize.” </p><p>“It’ll be fine,” Boba said through his teeth. It wouldn’t be fine. He’d have to get the client to take a plea, there was no way around it. </p><p>“Don’t you feel like you’re wasting your time? You threw away a promising career to defend corporate criminals, and now you’re reduced to taking pleas?”</p><p><em>It wasn’t enough, </em>Boba wanted to tell him but had never been able to, because his father had been a US Attorney and Boba had tried to take the same path, but even when he was doing the right thing, even when he was doing what he’d thought Jango <em>wanted, </em>it hadn’t been enough. At least in criminal defense, there were people who respected him for the power and prestige it carried; Boba couldn’t stand to feel like a disappointment even when he was doing everything right. </p><p>“I still <em>have </em>a promising career.” </p><p>“Yes, and it’s <em>all </em>you have, so don’t you want something more fulfilling? Or at least not morally reprehensible?” </p><p>“I could have something else,” Boba mumbled, gaze sinking again. Could he? Talking to his father always made him doubt it. He’d never figured out what he was supposed to be, exactly, because it wasn’t a lawyer, or an assistant US attorney, or good at sports, or captain of the debate team, or straight and dating a girl from a good family, or quiet and unobtrusive, or fucking <em>anything, </em>Boba had tried every single thing he could think of and none were the right answer.</p><p>Mostly, he suspected it was more about what his father couldn’t be than what Boba was, because Jango had never wanted children, despite accidentally fathering five of them, and it didn’t matter which kid he kept, any of them would have put a damper on his life. Boba wasn’t special, just motherless; Boba himself was no different than the children Jango had never wanted to see, and Boba had once been afraid his father wouldn’t want to see him anymore, either, until he’d finally realized it. He <em>was </em>no different: his father didn’t want him, either. Boba’s role in his life had been decided before Jango ever knew him: a burden. It took him a long time to learn to stop fighting a pre-determined fact, a matter that had already been decided, <em>Boba </em>already a judged, decided thing.</p><p>“Take the plea,” Jango said. “I’m sure he’d rather risk two years in low security before putting his fate in your hands, given how all of this is going already.” </p><p>“I’ll keep that in mind.” Boba glanced back up, hesitated. “Do you, uh. Have any – any – have Thanksgiving plans?” he asked, because he apparently never knew when to quit. Every year, he called his dad before Christmas and asked what his plans were, and every year, it took at least two ignored calls before Jango would answer and tell Boba he was traveling for the holiday. </p><p>“Bianca and I are going to Carmel. There’s an inn we go to for Thanksgiving,” Jango said. </p><p>“Oh. Well. I’d like to meet her sometime,” Boba offered, and Jango looked momentarily confused, like he either hadn’t realized Boba had never met his current long-term girlfriend, or had no idea why Boba would want to. “B names, huh?” Boba added, and the perplexed look continued for a while longer until it lifted into something faraway. </p><p>“Right,” Jango said, and his voice was the barest fraction softer. “Bethany.” <em>I barely knew your mother, </em>he’d said, many times, but he couldn’t seem to say her name without looking like maybe he did remember something, even if it was just one or two tiny, good things. Boba had always wanted to beg to know what they were. “I suppose you’re seeing one of your siblings?” Jango went on, and Boba’s shoulders slumped again. </p><p>“No, I’ve never done that.” </p><p>“Hm. Maybe I’m thinking of one of your brothers.” </p><p>“Maybe.” He knew no invitation was forthcoming. “I’m… kind of with… I’m... seeing someone,” he heard himself say, and immediately regretted it when Jango gave him a critical look. Boba’s gaze dropped back to the polished wood of the judge’s stand.</p><p>“What on earth does that mean?” </p><p>“I… don’t know. I’m seeing him, and it’s not… I don’t know. Forget it.” God, what was he doing? He should have left a long time ago. He just wanted to – to show that he had something that mattered, to remind himself that there was something good in his life. When he dared to look up again, Jango was giving him a strange look, and Boba wished he hadn’t said anything. Maybe it wasn’t anything. He couldn’t even say they were dating.</p><p>“Well,” Jango said, suddenly sounded even more stilted than usual. Boba just wanted to retreat, go home, avoid his father for at least another six months, maybe more. “I suppose that explains why things didn’t work out with that nice college girlfriend you had.” </p><p>“I…” Boba wanted to sink to the floor. Fucking – really? Years of agonizing over it, never knowing how to come out to his father and eventually deciding not to bother to, and now, in the midst of feeling beaten-down and miserable and wanting desperately to believe he was even kind-of-dating Din, he’d done it on accident. It didn’t even matter; how had he never realized that it just didn’t matter? Jango wouldn’t care, because Boba didn’t <em>matter. </em>“I should get going. Have to tell the client about the plea deal.” </p><p>“That’s for the best, counsel,” Jango said, and Boba finally turned away. Paz and Din were waiting for him, but Boba could only see Din, the worried look on his face, the way he kept fidgeting with his glasses, Boba’s initials right there on the cuff of his shirt. Suddenly, it just felt like a mockery, a reminder that Din <em>wasn’t </em>his, not really, and this was as close as he’d ever get, Din borrowing his shirt for a day and watching from far away enough that he couldn’t hear anything about who Boba really was. </p><p>Neither Din nor Paz tried to talk to him on the way out; Boba didn’t know if it was dumb luck, or if the scene in the courtroom had been so obviously awkward that even Paz had picked up on it. It could have gone worse, Boba kept telling himself; he swore under his breath when he hit the wrong button in the elevator, the elevator going up instead of down. It could have gone worse. There had to be worse things than his dad pointedly not inviting him to Thanksgiving, and reminding him that none of his siblings wanted to see him. Worse things than being told he had a disappointing career and nothing besides it in his life. Worse than outing himself in a pathetic attempt to prove – what, exactly? That he was putting too much stock into something that wasn’t really dating? And all his dad had to say about it was to remind Boba of a failed college relationship. Naturally. </p><p>“Bummer,” Paz said, when they were walking down the front steps of the courthouse. It had begun to rain lightly. “Well… back at it, right?” he sounded almost nervous, though Boba couldn’t blame him; prolonged dead silence from his boss wasn’t exactly encouraging. “We’ll go back to the office and hit the books! Or, uh. Redwell folders.” </p><p>Din was still quiet, shoulders hunched against the cold and raindrops collecting on his glasses lenses; he looked like he wanted to say something and was holding back, eyes dark with worry. If he so much as asked <em>are you okay, </em>Boba would lose it. Already, just looking at Din made him feel broken open. </p><p>“Take the day off, I don’t care,” Boba said sharply to Paz, “tomorrow’s a holiday anyways. I’m going home.” He caught Din’s eye over Paz’s shoulder, a question clear on Din’s face. </p><p>“Uh,” Paz looked utterly bewildered, and Boba left him to it. He snuck a last glance at Din and then walked away. Even before he’d reached his car, his phone was buzzing with a text. </p><p><em>Meet you at your place?? </em>Din had texted. Boba pulled at the car door handle until the car finally realized the keys were nearby and unlocked itself, then dropped into the driver’s seat and looked at his phone screen for a long moment. He didn’t want to talk about it; how <em>could </em>he? He was at least sort of numb to it, and if he kept not talking about it, he’d be able to edge past this and keep going. That was the only way to deal with his dad – not pause and examine the wounds, just keep pushing forwards until it had healed over enough to stop actively hurting.</p><p>Of course, being the day before Thanksgiving, it was also the day his father’s exceedingly impersonal Thanksgiving gift basket showed up at the front desk for him, which didn’t help his mood. He’d always suspected his father sent the same one to every one of his kids, for Thanksgiving and then for Christmas, and it wasn’t <em>bad, </em>just – impersonal. The worst part was that the first year he’d sent it, the year after Boba graduated college and moved into an apartment that wasn’t a dorm, Boba had thought it was <em>nice. </em>He’d thought it was a housewarming thing, like his dad was proud of him for getting his own apartment and starting law school, and then when he’d called, his dad had mentioned he wasn’t planning on celebrating Thanksgiving that year and the gift was more of a holiday stand-in. Boba had felt stupid for misunderstanding, and felt even worse when he fell for it again at Christmas. </p><p>He left the basket on the kitchen counter, couldn’t bring himself to actually look into it, and checked his phone again. Din’s text still waited for a response. Boba left it on read for a few hours, though he had to physically walk away from his phone to do it. Despite not returning to the office, he worked anyways, his home office at least having the advantage of solitude. He didn’t come up for air until nearly five PM, when he looked out the window and was startled by how dark it had suddenly become, the sky abruptly shifted to night. It killed his motivation immediately, and then, then all he could think about was the morning again and how his dad hadn’t even – hadn’t even <em>tried </em>to say something comforting, or encouraging. Not that Boba gave a shit what his dad thought of his sexual partners, but just a hint that his dad didn’t fully expect him to end up alone would have been nice.</p><p>His phone was still sitting on the kitchen counter where he’d left it that afternoon. No new texts, though Din’s still waited for a response. He couldn’t just see Din, had no idea what that would do, felt like an unpredictable mess. In a few days, he’d be fine, but not now, not yet, still couldn’t trust how he’d react to seeing Jango so recently. When he was a second year in college and had visited his dad for Christmas, the trip had been relatively uneventful, but at the end of his flight back to school he’d started to cry and couldn’t stop; he’d cried in the airport bathroom for half an hour before he could go back to his dorm. </p><p>When the phone rang, though, and Din’s name appeared on the screen, Boba answered it immediately, like part of him already knew he couldn’t stay away. </p><p>“Hey,” Din said, sounding startled that Boba had answered. “I, uh. You hate talking on the phone.” </p><p>“You called me.” </p><p>“Yeah, yeah, I did,” Din’s voice sounded deeper on the phone; Boba didn’t know why that made the ache for Din suddenly so much sharper. “Can I come make us dinner? I’d invite you here, but I’m pretty sure my mediocre cooking would taste better with a view.” </p><p>“That’d be nice,” Boba said. He dragged his fingertip through a droplet of water on the countertop. “Sorry I didn’t text you back.” </p><p>“It’s okay, I figured you were busy.” </p><p>“I was, um. I’m –” he didn’t know how to finish the sentence, didn’t know what he was trying to say. “You – you don’t mind coming over?” he asked, because it was raining and dark, because Din hadn’t asked to be dragged into Boba’s pathetic misery and how could Boba ask that of him? </p><p>“It was my idea,” Din said, voice warm. “I want to see you.” He promised to be there in under half an hour, and it was just enough time that Boba had fully convinced himself it was a bad idea by the time Din was ringing his doorbell. It was, and he knew it; he was barely holding it together, and thinking about things the wrong way would easily set him off, just like every other time. </p><p>“I brought everything I need,” Din said when Boba let him in, “not that I looked in your refrigerator, or anything.” </p><p>“It’s pretty sad in there.” Boba couldn’t help but feel disappointed that Din wasn’t wearing his shirt anymore, but of course he wouldn’t be; it clearly hadn’t fit him, and wearing a shirt too small across the shoulders wouldn’t be comfortable. Din was wearing a t-shirt and a flannel instead, with khaki-colored pants that were just tight enough to make Boba look twice. He followed Din into the kitchen, slid onto one of the counter stools as Din set down a cloth grocery bag on the counter. “It’s nothing impressive,” Din said, taking out a box of pasta, a bunch of parsley, a head of garlic. </p><p>“I don’t cook, so it’s all impressive to me.” Boba didn’t know if he should offer to help, or what he was supposed to be doing, but Din was clearly comfortable taking charge, and Boba was relieved to let him. All Din asked him to do was pick a bottle of wine, as Din started water boiling and asked where he could find olive oil and a cutting board. He chopped parsley, explained about how cooking garlic was scent-based, and retrieved a pan from the cabinet beside the stove. </p><p>“This is pretty fancy,” Din said, peering at the gift basket on the end of the counter. “I mean, they’ve obviously never met you, but still fancy! Some client send it?” </p><p>“Why do you say that?” Boba asked, because how could he say <em>my dad sent it </em>when it was prefaced with <em>they’ve obviously never met you. </em>Din smiled at him. </p><p>“Uh, white wine? Spicy peanuts? White chocolate?” </p><p>“How do <em>you </em>know I don’t like those things?” Boba asked, because that was much more interesting than the fact that his own dad had somehow never learned those details about him. Din turned slightly pink. </p><p>“I maybe looked in your fridge once. And you always pick the non-spicy option when we order takeout, you don’t even eat spicy tuna in sushi. The wine one was obvious,” he said, nodding to their glasses on the counter, which were filled with red wine. </p><p>“Well,” Boba looked away, couldn’t help but smile. “I guess not everyone’s as observant as you.” <em>I wouldn’t exactly call myself an expert, </em>Din had said that first night, but sometimes, he felt like one.</p><p>Din didn’t ask again who the basket was from, at least. He went back to chopping parsley, and Boba watched, entranced as usual by Din’s big hands, the broadness of his shoulders, the dimple that appeared when he smiled across the counter at Boba. </p><p>“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you go home early before,” Din said after a while, as he waited for the spaghetti to cook. Boba fidgeted with his sweater sleeve, said nothing. Din circled around the counter, and Boba’s heart raced unhappily, anticipating the questions that were sure to follow, but Din didn’t ask any; he just tipped Boba’s face up and kissed him. Softly, slowly, without a word, and Boba’s breathing hitched on a helpless whimper, though he couldn’t say if it was because he wanted Din so badly or because everything he felt was threatening to overwhelm him. </p><p>Din still didn’t ask any questions. He suggested they watch a movie during dinner, and Boba was eager to agree, let Din choose a movie and sat beside him on the couch, inched progressively closer as the movie went on. By halfway through, Din had slid an arm around Boba’s shoulders, rubbed his thumb over the back of Boba’s neck and leaned in to kiss his temple. </p><p>“Hey,” Din said quietly, pressed another kiss to Boba’s hair. “You… want to talk about this morning?” Because he knew, of course he knew, but just the mention of it was gut-wrenching, and Boba fought a swell of hurt at the memory. When was the last time his dad even called him by name, anyways, and not just <em>counsel? </em></p><p>“Nothing to talk about,” Boba mumbled. He slouched down further, shifted so he could lean more into Din’s side. Din let him do it, didn’t press for any answers. Not like Boba had any, though; there wasn’t anything <em>to </em>talk about. He’d had a normal conversation with his dad. His dad had said the same things Boba had heard a hundred times, and they were all factually correct: his decision to go into criminal defense was morally grey and it was the only thing he had in his life, he wasn’t going to win his case, he didn’t ever see family for the holidays, he <em>knew </em>all of that. His dad wasn’t <em>wrong, </em>was just telling Boba all the things he already told himself. No wonder he was a disappointment; he <em>knew </em>everything that was wrong with him, and was still this way, anyways. He couldn’t change; he was a decided thing, everything about him set in stone already.</p><p>“What’re you doing tomorrow?” Din asked, when they were watching the movie’s credits roll by. Boba shrugged. “I wish you could come with me. I’d have brought you,” Din said, and Boba hadn’t known to hope for an invitation from him, but the abrupt absence of it was painful. “But, um. I’m… going to Cara’s, and…” </p><p>“She hates me.” </p><p>“She doesn’t,” Din said, but it wasn’t very convincing. If he showed up with Boba as his date, Cara would stage an intervention. “I’m really sorry.” He reached to squeeze Boba’s hand gently, apologetically, and Boba bit his lip to keep it from trembling, swallowed hard. He didn’t <em>care </em>about being alone for holidays, why was it suddenly so hard? He couldn’t remember the last time he’d had holiday plans. Sometime during law school? One year, he’d just stopped going home. A few years before that, his dad’s house had stopped feeling like home. </p><p>“I have you until the morning, don’t I?” Boba asked, and it maybe sounded a little more pleading than he’d intended, but Din was nodding anyways, like that was somehow a given. It <em>wasn’t, </em>though, because he wasn’t Boba’s, and Boba wasn’t his, but for a moment, it almost felt like it, like Din <em>wanted </em>him. “You coming?” Boba asked, and he led Din to his bedroom, Din pulling him close to kiss him before they’d ever crossed the threshold. </p><p>It was just like before, Din climbing over Boba on the bed and leaning down to kiss him, Din’s hands as gentle and reverent as ever. When his thumb stroked over Boba’s hip, Boba whined, face flushing when he saw Din’s gaze lingering there, at the small tattoo that read <em>res judicata. </em></p><p>“I keep wondering about this,” Din said, softly curious, and Boba squirmed beneath his gaze, shrugging. Din had this way of <em>looking </em>at him, like somehow, he could see Boba exactly the way he’d been back then, like he was seeing Boba as twenty-four, defiant in his misery, telling himself <em>this is the way things are </em>because the sooner he accepted that, the sooner he could live with it. <em>Res judicata: </em>a matter decided, best not fought, pointless to challenge.</p><p>“It’s stupid, it’s nothing.” It was suddenly obvious, that Boba couldn’t handle something like this, not tonight. As much as he always loved Din taking him to pieces, he <em>couldn’t, </em>not tonight. Boba needed to feel like he wasn’t being looked at, wanted to stop thinking about anything to do with himself, wanted to lose himself in Din. He pulled Din down to kiss him again, breathed a sigh of relief when Din’s hand slid off his hip, Din’s attention sufficiently redirected. </p><p>“Din,” he said softly, when they’d both lost nearly every article of clothing and Din was palming Boba’s erection through the last layer of fabric. “If… if you want…” Din lifted his head, and Boba almost lost his nerve, when Din was looking at him. “Can I fuck you?” Boba asked, and just saying the words made his dick jump beneath Din’s hand, Boba blushing when Din surely noticed. </p><p>“Holy shit,” Din breathed, “Yeah. <em>Yeah. </em>Fuck. I think I’ve wanted to ride you since the second I met you.” He was eager to trade spots with Boba, and his anticipation almost made Boba too anxious to try it. He hadn’t been expecting Din to already be wanting it, and as much as he’d hoped to feel wanted, the actual feeling of it was heady and nearly overwhelming. </p><p>Boba didn’t have the same experience as Din, mostly just knew what felt good to him; Din had a fluidity to this that Boba couldn’t quite seem to find, and he tried not to think about the last time he would have been in this position – fuck, at least five years? At some point, Boba’s resolve had cracked, and he’d learned to get past the moments of anxious vulnerability that came with allowing himself to be fucked the way he wanted. But he was dying to do this for Din, wanted to be the reason Din felt that good. </p><p>“‘S alright?” Boba murmured, when he’d fumbled through grabbing the lube and slicking up his fingers and closing the cap without making the bottle a sticky mess, and was finally opening Din up with one finger. Din gave a low moan, nodding. Boba didn’t move on for a while, though, fucked him in easy, slow slides, until Din was fully hard, dick twitching over his stomach. Then, Boba added a second finger, to a stuttering groan from Din. He didn’t spend long on two, quickly moved up to three fingers; Boba’s knees were starting to ache where he knelt on the bed, but his dick had no complaints, twitching and leaking precum as he watched the way Din shivered and moaned for him. Din was always able to find Boba’s prostate on seemingly the first try, but it took Boba longer; he knew when he hit it though, from the way Din’s back arched and he groaned deeply. </p><p>“Right there,” Din babbled, in case the way he’d jolted hadn’t been sign enough, “do that again, right – <em>oh!” </em>He cut off mid-sentence when Boba twisted his fingers just right, pressed his heels into the bed and tried to press his hips down into the feeling. “I’m ready, I’m ready,” Din groaned, though he gave a needy whine when Boba took his fingers away so he could grab a condom and trade places with Din. </p><p>Having Din take the lead again felt more familiar, Din confidently straddling Boba’s hips and lining him up. Boba sucked in a breath as Din sank down onto him, didn’t know what the truly overwhelming part was - the way it felt, the tight heat enveloping his dick, or the way Din <em>looked, </em>his thighs trembling as he lowered himself onto Boba’s cock, the way he leaned his palms into Boba’s chest and gave a hitching moan as he worked himself down. Boba tried hard not to move, not to thrust upwards like he desperately wanted to, Din so <em>tight </em>around him. </p><p>“Oh, <em>fuck,” </em>Din groaned, when he was fully seated, pausing to catch his breath. Boba ran his hands along Din’s thighs, stroked his thumbs over Din’s hips. It wasn’t long before Din was moving again, slow at first, and then rocking his hips down into Boba’s rapidly, eyes squeezed shut and lips parted, nails digging into Boba’s skin. When Boba slid his hand along Din’s cock, he found it wet with precum already, gave a few slick strokes that had Din losing his rhythm, just grinding his hips frantically between Boba’s grip and his dick. </p><p>“Just like you pictured?” Boba panted out, and Din moaned in response, “When you wanted to ride my dick?” It was easier to talk when Din was clearly falling apart for it, less scary when he could see that Din wanted this so, so much. Boba thrust his hips upwards as best he could, his rhythm probably terrible but still managing to make Din moan every time. </p><p>“Yeah,” Din’s voice was deep, hoarse, as he fucked himself on Boba’s dick quicker, a helpless, needy pace, “this is what I wanted.” Boba could <em>feel </em>it, when Din was getting close, from the way Din trembled and clenched around him, and the feeling hit Boba harder than expected – he came before Din had a chance to, bucking his hips up and clutching Din’s hips to pull Din down onto his cock the rest of the way. </p><p>“Fuck, baby,” Din groaned, and he kept grinding down on Boba for a few more thrusts before he came with a punched-out moan, somehow entirely different from the way he sounded when he came from fucking Boba. Boba smoothed his hands along Din’s thighs, the muscles still twitching, as Din panted. “Holy shit,” Din said, voice hoarse. “You’ve been holding out on me.” </p><p>“As good as you thought it would be?” Boba asked, as Din climbed off him and collapsed on the bed; Din chuckled. </p><p>“Even better.” </p><p>It helped, at least for a little while. Din was so thoroughly sated and happy, and <em>Boba </em>had done that, and he had to be good for something, if he could make Din feel this way. </p><p>Still, Boba couldn’t sleep. He tried not to move around too much, didn’t want to make Din roll away from him; Din fell asleep easily, wrapped around him. Having Din in bed with him had only happened once before but somehow already felt necessary, already felt like something Boba couldn’t survive losing.</p><p>And – Boba would lose it. Would lose Din. He couldn’t fucking hold onto this, he didn’t have the whatever-it-was, the thing he lacked, that he’d always lacked. Eventually, he’d disappoint Din. Eventually, Din would realize there was nothing special about Boba, nothing to make him someone worth keeping. <em>I suppose that explains why things didn’t work out, </em>Jango had said, because Boba had admitted something about himself and it had made earlier failings make sense, and how was <em>that </em>the worst thing Jango had said? The answer to what had gone wrong had lay within Boba the entire time, and his father looked at him like he’d been waiting to for that to reveal itself, like if he just waited long enough, eventually he’d see what was wrong with him. Everything decided, everything that would go wrong already within him, waiting to be revealed.</p><p>“Hey,” Din murmured, when Boba shifted again. “You’re still awake?” Boba gave a noncommittal sound, and Din slid an arm around his waist, pressed a kiss to Boba’s bare shoulder. Boba’s chest tightened, and suddenly his eyes burned with tears, a sob hitching in his throat. “What’s wrong, baby?” Din asked, so impossibly gentle, and it tore Boba apart. Din was looking at him, and eventually, eventually he’d see the answer, see that what was wrong with Boba was just something that was part of him, something that was his fault, unchangeable, inevitable. </p><p>Boba turned away, buried his face against the pillow; maybe Din wouldn’t realize that he’d started crying and couldn’t stop, shaking with silent tears because it had finally hit him, the way it always did, the crushing aftermath of a stilted conversation that somehow managed to pierce him to the core. It wasn’t seeing his dad; it was seeing himself through his dad’s unflinching gaze, never wrong and never good. </p><p>“Baby, tell me what’s wrong,” Din whispered, because he didn’t know yet. He would, though. Someday, inevitably, he would. </p>
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<a name="section0009"><h2>9. Chapter 9</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>thank you for your patience and amazing comments!!!! you're all amazing :))</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Din woke up alone in bed; it wouldn’t have been surprising, if he wasn’t in <em>Boba’s </em>bed. Din pushed himself up, looking around the quiet room. The bathroom door stood open, the lights off, and the walk-in closet was dark as well. Din took his glasses from the nightstand and put them back on, listening for noise in the next room. </p><p>“Baby?” he called, probably too softly to be heard. He was almost nervous for Boba to come back; Din had been worried about him since the postponement hearing, and while he’d been thrilled that Boba had wanted him to come over, he hadn’t exactly been reassured by how oddly Boba was acting. </p><p>His hushed conversation with his father had looked awkward even from across the courtroom, and afterwards, Boba had been distant and quieter than usual. And while Din was enthusiastically willing to be the one getting fucked, it had felt like a way for Boba to keep him at arm’s length, a little bit. Sometimes, he had something almost like an instinct about Boba, and there was something <em>wrong, </em>Din had known it all evening. But – he hadn’t been able to help. Boba hadn’t been able to talk to him, hadn’t been comforted by him. He’d cried himself to sleep, and Din had been useless. </p><p>Din heard water running in the kitchen; he pulled on his jeans and t-shirt and headed over, tried to chase away the nervousness that had slunk its way in. Boba was standing in the kitchen, pouring water into the French press; he was wearing sweatpants slung low on his hips and no shirt, rubbed his hands along his arms as he watched the coffee start to steep. </p><p>“Hey,” Din ventured, and Boba jumped a little. “Sorry. Been up for long?” </p><p>“Not really.” </p><p>It was already past ten; Din had promised to be at Cara’s early, and he still had to go home and get the empanadas he’d made for Thanksgiving during his surprise day off yesterday, when he’d been anxiously checking his phone to see if Boba had texted him back. He didn’t want to <em>leave, </em>though, didn’t want to leave Boba alone, but he also couldn’t cancel on Cara, and he couldn’t bring Boba with him as his date either, because Cara despised Boba and Din couldn’t subject him to that. It was hard to imagine leaving Boba without having done anything to make him feel <em>better, </em>but Din was floundering, still didn’t know how. He couldn’t even make Boba feel safe enough to admit that something was <em>wrong. </em></p><p>Din tried not to sulk, but it was hard. He grabbed his flannel off the stool, circled the kitchen island and held it out to Boba, who blinked at him in confusion. </p><p>“You look cold,” Din explained, and Boba shrugged a shoulder but accepted it, slid the flannel on. It hung more loosely on him, and Din stepped up behind him as he did the buttons, wrapped his arms around Boba. “Couldn’t sleep?” Din asked, as close to the subject as he dared to get. </p><p>“Just used to waking up early,” Boba said, but his fingers had paused on the buttons of Din’s shirt, and he leaned back against Din’s chest just slightly. At least Din could do this, even if he didn’t know if it was helping, Boba still withdrawn, still not looking directly at him. God, even from across the courtroom, Din could tell Boba was hurting, and he’d wondered if it was obvious to everyone there, or if he was the only one seeing it. </p><p>Din didn’t know how to help. He lingered for as long as he could, put off leaving so long that he would definitely be running late, but it was <em>hard </em>to leave Boba. Even as Din stood in the entryway, he wanted to take it back, to say he wasn’t ready to go just yet and go back to drinking coffee on the couch with Boba leaned into his side. </p><p>“I’ll see you soon,” Din said, wanted desperately to leave Boba with something he could hold onto; was it arrogant, to think anything Din said would be that important? </p><p>“Oh, I’m still, uh,” Boba looked down at the flannel he still wore. “Do you…” </p><p>“No, just wear it,” Din said, and Boba smiled, the smile that broke Din’s heart every time he saw it just for how shy it was. Maybe he was leaving Boba with something important after all. </p><p>The rest of Din’s morning moved along quickly; he hurried back home to change clothes and grab the empanadas he’d made for an appetizer, and then headed over to Cara’s. He could tell he wasn’t the first to arrive as soon as Cara opened the door, and she looked at him like he was an oasis in the desert. </p><p>“I’m going to kill them,” she whispered, “the only thing stopping me is that I don’t know who to take out first.” </p><p>“Sounds like it’s going well,” Din said; Cara still stood in the doorway, edging closer to the stoop like she thought if she closed the door quietly enough, she could stay outside and no one would notice. </p><p>“Well, the whole ‘having holidays together for the kid’ thing is so nice in theory,” Cara said, “but realistically, it’s your wife’s ex-husband making weird lesbian jokes every chance he gets, and feeling like if I talk to Ben for too long, Han will think I’m trying to turn his son against him. Good times already!” </p><p>“Uh, wow. What if we just… don’t go inside?” Din asked, although he’d chosen too light a jacket for such an extended stint outside, and facing Leia’s ex-husband actually sounded better than standing in the cold. Cara sighed; she’d worked her way so far out the door, it was nearly closed behind her. </p><p>“I picked up a cake for dessert,” Cara said, “it’s a <em>really </em>good cake. I need to be here for that.” </p><p>“For… the cake.” </p><p>“Yeah! Ben was really excited for it, so I’m getting some major points with him. It’s smore’s flavored, so. It’s a big deal.” </p><p>“So… then we can go inside?” Din asked hopefully. </p><p>“I suppose.” Cara opened the door with a sigh; Din followed her eagerly, the warmth inside welcoming. “So where were you?” she asked, and Din wondered if he could flee back outside into the cold. </p><p>“What makes you think I was somewhere?” </p><p>“Well, for starters, how very guilty that sounded.” </p><p>“Is that Luke?” Din sidestepped Cara, waving when he spotted Luke in the doorway of the kitchen. Luke grinned in his direction. “I should go say hi to Luke!” he tried, but as usual, Luke had zero intuitiveness, and disappeared back into the kitchen. </p><p>“Remember the guy I was telling you about,” Din said, fidgeting with the tupperware in his hands. “He, uh. He called me – well, I called him, and I went over.” </p><p>“Din!” Cara swatted him in the shoulder, “why didn’t you <em>bring </em>him?” </p><p>The thought of Boba being here, of him standing beside Din in Cara’s living room, made Din cringe. He knew how it would go. Cara would be sharp, Boba would be cold, and if Din paid attention, he would see tiny indications of how much Boba wanted to run away. <em>You don’t know him like I do, </em>Din wanted to plead, but he <em>knew </em>how that sounded. It sounded like making justifications, like excusing things he shouldn’t, but – it was a mess. Din didn’t know how to reconcile Boba’s history of being a sharp-tongued, cruel defense attorney with the way he practically collapsed into anxiety when speaking to Din on the phone. Din didn’t <em>want </em>to explain away those things, he wanted to… to prevent them. To convince Boba he didn’t have to be that way. It felt like the hardest approach to take. </p><p>“He, uh. He’s… going through some things,” Din said, “Holidays are hard for him. Family stuff?” Immediately, Cara’s eyes filled with sympathy; Din wondered how she’d react, if she’d known it was for <em>Boba Fett. </em></p><p>“That sucks.”</p><p>“Yeah, I… I don’t know how to handle it. I feel like I’m out of my depth.” He knew he couldn’t talk about it, but part of him <em>needed </em>to, because he was floundering and needed to know what to do, or at least to hear that he was capable of helping. “I’ve never dealt with anything like this. I’ve got my own shit to deal with, but… having <em>no </em>parents is nothing like having a bad relationship with one, you know?” </p><p>“I’m sure you’re doing great,” Cara said, squeezed his shoulder, “Din, you’re <em>good </em>at this, and you obviously care about him. I’m sure having you there helped a lot.” </p><p>“I hope so,” Din mumbled, though if he was really making a difference, wouldn’t Boba have at least let Din hold him when he cried? God, he’d <em>cried, </em>Din was still frantic at the thought, like every time he thought about it, he was again facing the decision of what to do about it. He’d done nothing. </p><p>“Cara?” A child’s voice made Din turn; it was Ben, Leia’s ten-year-old son, with his ever-present oddly intense expression. “My dad says he doesn’t know how to change the input on your TV.” </p><p>“That’s not what I said!” Han’s voice carried over from the kitchen. Ben rolled his eyes. </p><p>“My dad says to ask you to change the input on your TV, because it’s not his TV so he doesn’t have to come and figure it out” </p><p>“That’s also –”</p><p>“That’s <em>exactly </em>what you said, Dad!” Ben called back. “I have a really good memory!” </p><p>“Okay,” Cara set a hand on Ben’s shoulder, steered him towards the couch. “Why don’t I get you set up? I’ll show you how to do it yourself, and I bet you’ll be better than me at it in no time.” </p><p>“I’m really good at tech stuff,” Ben informed her. Cara gave Din a helpless look over her shoulder. </p><p>“Why don’t you go give that to Leia?” she said, nodding to the tupperware he was still holding like a security blanket. “I can’t wait to try them!” </p><p>Din left the relative safety of the living room for the kitchen; Leia was checking the oven, and her ex-husband Han sat at the kitchen table with Luke, who was intent on the centerpiece. It was a rather elaborate setup, with a full-sized pumpkin hollowed out so it could be crammed with a flower arrangement, and was surrounded by a collection of small painted pumpkins, pinecones, and a dusting of what looked like crumpled leaves. </p><p>“That’s, uh, fancy,” Din said, and Luke beamed at him. </p><p>“I’ve been doing some staging,” he explained; he and Leia were real estate agents, and Din hoped he wasn’t planning to leave that for anything to do with interior decoration, because while he was great at the grandiose statement of it, his sense of context could still use some work. His centerpiece didn’t seem to leave any room for plates. </p><p>“Stick to selling houses, kid,” Han said, and he nodded in greeting to Din. Din saw Han frequently at Cara and Leia’s holiday parties; apparently Leia was very committed to showing Ben that she and Han could co-parent successfully. Din wasn’t sure if it was working, but then again, it wasn’t like he was a parent. Or had much experience <em>being </em>parented; he didn’t spend more than three years with each foster family he was placed with. Things just – just kept going <em>wrong. </em>One family moved out of state, one family decided to no longer be foster parents after their own child was born, one he asked to be removed from when the bullying from the other two kids became too much for him to handle, and the last, he aged out of the system and just drifted away from them. Finding the right place was hard for everyone, Din had always told himself, and he didn’t know if it was better or worse, finding out that biological families weren’t always the right fit either. Boba was certainly an example of that. </p><p>“Cara told me all about these,” Leia said, as she took the Tupperware from Din’s hands. “Sounds amazing! Can I heat them in the oven? Like, three hundred maybe?” </p><p>“Yeah, that should be good,” Din said, leaned in to the hug she gave him with her free arm. “You need any help with anything?” </p><p>“You’ll always be my favorite,” Leia said cheerfully. “But I’m good, don’t worry. Grab a drink from the fridge.” </p><p>“There’s <em>cider,” </em>Luke told him, pointing towards the fridge, in case Din might not have noticed it, “the pear is great. Strawberry is good too, though.”</p><p>“Kid, those are the only two options,” Han contributed, “how does that help?” </p><p>Din chose the pear, and lingered in the doorway, unsure if he wanted to sit at the table and potentially commit himself to staying in the kitchen. At the Fourth of July party, he’d been stuck in the room during an awkward argument between Han and Leia about Ben using fireworks. It had never felt like the right time to tell them that while they were arguing, Luke was outside happily handing Ben fireworks to light. </p><p>“Weren’t you bringing someone?” Leia asked, as she slid the tray of empanadas into the oven. “Cara said you’re seeing someone now!” </p><p>“Oh, uh. It’s a little early for that,” Din said. “It’s nice of you guys to invite him, but we’re not really there yet.” </p><p>“You’re gay, too?” Han said, arching an eyebrow. “Do you guys just… hang out together?” </p><p>“Han!” Leia snapped, and Han held up his hands. </p><p>“What? I’m just saying, like, statistically,” he said defensively. “Just seems like you guys, y’know, birds of a feather or something?” </p><p>“There were these three birds in Vancouver that spent time together every winter for like, years,” Luke said thoughtfully. “I can’t remember what kind they were. A godwit, a whimbrel, and… something else.” He crumpled another leaf over the arrangement, to a “stop making such a mess!” hiss from Leia that he seemingly didn’t hear. </p><p>Din found Han still looking at him for an answer, and he shrugged. “I mean, yeah,” he said, didn’t know what else to say. “I am.” </p><p>“Am what?” Cara asked, stepping up beside Din in the doorway and apparently not reading Leia’s furtive head-shake. </p><p>“I was just asking if you guys hang out together because you’re all, you know?” Han waved a hand vaguely. </p><p>“Would you quit it, Han?” Leia snapped. “We don’t choose our friends <em>because </em>of their orientation.”</p><p>“What! I just never knew, that’s all. You wouldn’t really guess, looking at him. You know?” he said to Din, who truly didn’t. </p><p>“Han!” </p><p>“What! He doesn’t <em>look –”</em></p><p>“Han, I <em>swear to God.” </em></p><p>“Curlew!” Luke exclaimed. The kitchen went silent. “The third bird,” Luke explained. “Although I guess they weren’t birds of a feather, because they were three different birds, so. Never mind.” Leia stood with her hands on her hips, looking at Luke like he might have come from another planet. “Anyways. Don’t listen to Han,” Luke said to Din, set a hand on his arm sympathetically. “You <em>do </em>look gay.” </p><p>“<em>Luke!” </em>Leia wailed, and Din tried hard not to laugh. He slipped out of the room when Cara started asking Leia what she needed help with, and Luke turned away to stop Han from moving any of the small pumpkins to make space for his glass. Din escaped to the living room, figured if he wasn’t present, they couldn’t restart the same awkward conversation as before. Ben was sitting on the couch, playing a video game, and Din moved to sit in the armchair nearby. </p><p>“It’s Animal Crossing,” Ben explained, before Din could ask why his character was running around doing seemingly nothing but following a footpath beside gently waving flowers. </p><p>“Oh,” Din said. Ben’s character was easy to identify, with his black hair and black coat; he was following around a little redheaded character wearing a plaid sweater and a newsboy cap. “Who’s that?” </p><p>“That’s my best friend, Hux, from school. This is his island,” Ben explained, not looking away from the screen, “He redoes it for every season. He’s really smart at designing things.” </p><p>“It’s very… autumn,” Din said, which Ben rolled his eyes at.</p><p>“I mean, that’s the whole point.” </p><p>“He definitely did a good job with the theme.”</p><p>“I know,” Ben said, chest puffing out with pride, like he’d designed it himself. “He’s really smart.” </p><p>“Who, Hux?” Cara asked, coming to sit on the other armchair. Ben nodded, eyes on the screen. “He’s getting good at flower cloning, huh?” she asked, and Ben nodded enthusiastically. Din had no idea what she was talking about. “So how was the postponement hearing?” she asked Din, and he wished she would go back to talking about nonsensical video game-related things. </p><p>“We got denied.” </p><p>“Paz said the judge was <em>Jango Fett?” </em>Cara snorted, “That must have been fascinating to watch.”</p><p>“It was… awkward,” Din admitted. He fidgeted with the can in his hands, watched Ben’s character running past a field of orange flowers. There was a chalk outline of a body in the middle of the flowers, which was a bit grim. </p><p> “Even his own father doesn’t like him? I’m not surprised,” Cara shook her head. “His dad was a <em>US Attorney. </em>I can’t imagine he approves of him defending criminals.”</p><p>“Yeah, it was… pretty impersonal,” Din said. Impersonal, but the choice to be that way had felt so <em>personal</em>, so purposeful; Din wished desperately he knew what Jango had said to Boba when they were talking quietly at the bench, because while Boba had come away looking unaffected, the way he’d acted afterwards had told Din that he’d been hurting. No one else seemed able to read it, between his silence and his sharp responses, the abrupt dismissal. “Just like… called him ‘counsel’ and didn’t let him finish his argument.” He rolled the can between his palms slowly, shaking his head. “It was weird. Hard to watch.” </p><p>“Don’t tell me you feel bad for him,” Cara said, wrinkling her nose. “Din, come on.” </p><p>“He’s… I don’t know,” Din said, couldn’t make himself even pretend to say something hateful about Boba. <em>He cried in my arms, </em>he wanted to explain, <em>he breaks my heart, he looks like he hates himself when he can’t talk in front of me, he whimpers when I kiss him. </em>“Don’t you ever wonder if there’s a reason he is the way he is?” </p><p>“Sure,” Cara shrugged, “But then he chooses to keep being a jerk, and I decide the reason doesn’t matter.” </p><p>“I think it matters, a little,” Din said. “Maybe he would be able to be himself, if things had been different.” If he didn’t think people would hate him for it, if he hadn’t been raised feeling like whatever he was, it was the wrong answer.</p><p>“Or maybe this <em>is </em>him. I don’t think everyone has a hidden good side, you know? You’re probably the only person who feels bad for him, and I think that says more about you than him.” </p><p>“I don’t know,” Din sighed out, slouched down further in the armchair. “Okay, that was at least the third murder scene,” he said, as Ben passed yet another chalk outline. Ben giggled. </p><p>As Cara talked to Ben about the game, Din slid his phone from his pocket. <em>I miss you, </em>he texted Boba, didn’t know how to articulate any of the other things he was feeling, and finally settled on <em>what’re you doing? </em></p><p><em>Went to the office to work, </em>Boba replied after a couple minutes, and then, <em>I miss you too. </em></p><p>While Din was still thinking about what to reply, Leia came in with appetizers, and Din slid his phone back into his pocket; he was terrible at texting, always needed a while to think about what he wanted to say. It was easy when they were together; the words for what he felt were easy to find, when he was looking at Boba. </p><p>The afternoon passed easily, at least until Han and Cara discovered they had an enemy in common in Boba. Apparently, a company Han had worked for was smuggling prescription drugs and flooding the market, and Boba had been on the prosecution team that brought them down. Han had only been an operations manager and made a deal to get out without any jail time, but he was still bitter. </p><p>“I’m not surprised he’s defending scumbags now,” Han said, shaking his head. Leia sighed, probably because his statement implied that Han himself had been one of the scumbags in the trial. Ben sat between them on the couch, seemingly oblivious as he focused on his game. </p><p>“So he was even a jerk even when he was on the right side?” Cara shook her head, “unbelievable.” </p><p>“I mean,” Din felt compelled to point out, “You might have liked him back then. If he wasn’t in criminal defense yet.” </p><p>“I sincerely doubt that.” </p><p>“The whole thing was overblown,” Han said, sounding like it was an argument he’d made countless times before. “We didn’t even –”</p><p>“What did we say about taking responsibility in front of Ben?” Leia whispered, leaning back to speak behind Ben’s back to Han. “You were in the wrong!” she said, when Han made a face. </p><p>“Yes, smuggling is wrong,” Han rolled his eyes in a very familiar way. “But anyways, if the prosecutors hadn’t been such –” </p><p>Din slipped his phone back out, though he still didn’t know what to say, didn’t know if he could text Boba back without a guilty look showing up on his face, since the Boba-is-an-asshole discussion was still in full swing and he felt complicit just by hearing it and not stopping it. </p><p><em>Are you sure you’re okay after this week? </em>Din typed out, and he looked at it for a long moment before pressing send. Maybe it was too much? But it was what he couldn’t stop thinking and worrying about. </p><p><em>Everything’s fine. It really wasn’t anything out of the ordinary, </em>Boba replied, like that wasn’t heartbreaking. Even if he wouldn’t talk about it, it wasn’t like Din hadn’t <em>noticed </em>something was wrong. He was weirdly quiet, he hadn’t wanted to let Din fuck him like usual and it hadn’t felt like a fun change of pace but more like he wanted to prove something, he’d actually fucking <em>cried, </em>and Din was frantic with the need to understand. </p><p><em>This is ordinary?? </em>Din replied before he could stop himself, and it was stupid, thoughtless, and if they’d been talking in person, he would be doing a much better job. </p><p>“ – language, Han, please,” Leia was saying, to a sigh from Han. </p><p>“Oh, come on, even if the guy really <em>is </em>an asshole? Besides, Ben’s old enough to swear.” </p><p>“I know how to swear. I choose not to,” Ben chimed in. </p><p>“That’s a very mature choice, sweetheart. And it’s not about Ben being old enough, it’s about how <em>I </em>don’t want to hear about how you think some guy’s an asshole, on Thanksgiving.” </p><p>“So if it was Monday, that would be a different story? Dude’s an asshole every day of the week.” </p><p>“Han, you haven’t even seen this man in nearly ten years.” </p><p>“He’s not exactly wrong,” Cara chuckled. Din slouched down in his chair, fidgeting restlessly. His can of cider was empty, but he didn’t really want to draw attention to himself and go get another. His phone buzzed, and he looked back down.</p><p><em>Well, it’s the first holiday my dad didn’t call for, but he’s probably still adjusting to the whole being gay thing, </em>Boba had replied, which threw Din for a loop for a moment. </p><p><em>When did you tell him? </em>He replied. Maybe… maybe that was the reason for their strained relationship? Maybe Boba had a bad coming out experience in his teen years that had colored the rest of their relationship, but – why would <em>this </em>be the first holiday his father failed to make even the most minimum effort for? </p><p><em>Wednesday, </em>Boba’s next text read. Wednesday – as in, two days ago? As in, right after the hearing, during that hushed conversation Din had watched from across the courtroom, that had made Boba tense and snappish afterwards? Din’s phone buzzed again. <em>Honestly, it’s fine. I’m practically 40, who gives a shit what my father thinks? </em></p><p>Din had no idea how to respond. He knew vaguely what he would say in person, that he <em>understood, </em>that it wasn’t just that Boba had finally come out to him, it was the culmination of whatever had made him <em>not </em>come out until he was thirty-eight, the conversation he’d chosen to do it during making it look like it might have been more accidental that purposeful, it was their already-strained relationship and this <em>not </em>being the reason for it, it was so much more complicated than Din could articulate over text. </p><p><em>I’m sorry baby, </em>was all he could come up with, because he didn’t want to harp on it if Boba was trying to look past it, didn’t want to not acknowledge it if it was hurting Boba this way, just didn’t <em>know </em>when Boba wasn’t here for him to hold. Although, Din hated to admit that it was <em>good </em>Boba wasn’t here, given their conversation topic for the last ten minutes. He was at the office, admitting that he’d only just this week told his dad an important detail about his life, and Din didn’t like him being there either, alone, but even that was better than subjecting him to this. </p><p>“He’s not <em>that bad,” </em>Din finally burst out, to perplexed looks from the others. “I just…” Din lowered his voice to a more normal volume with some effort. “I mean, come on. What if there’s a reason for it?” </p><p>“How bad <em>was </em>that hearing?” Cara asked, and Din shrugged helplessly. <em>Bad enough that he cried, </em>thudded through his mind, over and over. <em>That bad, and I could do nothing. </em>Din stood, shifting his shoulders uncomfortably. </p><p>“Want anything from the kitchen?” he asked, left before anyone could actually answer him. </p><p>From the living room, he heard Ben ask “who’s the guy everyone but Din hates?” and it felt unduly incriminating. </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0010"><h2>10. Chapter 10</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Thank you all for being SO patient waiting for the next chapter!!!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> </p><p>Boba wasn’t at work on Friday. Din tried not to find that fact alarming, that someone who had worked through Thanksgiving would then skip the day after it. Boba also didn’t respond to Din’s text asking to see him on Saturday, or the one he sent on Sunday. Din spent the weekend pacing his apartment, checking his phone so often that the battery died early both evenings; each time, he’d become convinced Boba might have texted him in the time it took for him to plug the phone in and turn it back on, and each time, he was disappointed. When Boba finally did reply, it was eleven-forty-five Sunday night, and it just said <em>Sorry, I’ll see you tomorrow, </em>which didn’t make Din feel much better. </p><p>By the time Din got to work on Monday morning, he was anxious to see Boba, increasingly convinced he should have done something differently. Asked to stay? Tried harder to coax him into talking? Been more comforting? Din was miserable with uncertainty. Everything he chose not to do felt like the right answer in retrospect, the thing that would have turned the tide, instead of the <em>nothing </em>he chose.</p><p>He was so early to work that Boba still hadn’t arrived, and Din spent the morning at his own desk, knee bouncing impatiently as he sorted through paperwork. It was looking more like the client would have to take a plea deal, but hadn’t officially agreed to it yet, so they were still swamped with trial preparation. He stopped by the conference room for a brief update in which Paz summarized the disastrous hearing as “Judge denied the postponement, but there’s always time for a buzzer-beater” and Din still didn’t see Boba. </p><p>When late afternoon arrived, Din had begun contemplating excuses to go right to Boba’s office; the best he’d come up with was to collect a few folders and pretend Boba had asked for them, which didn’t seem like a bad plan. He was just looking around for decoy folders when there was a knock at his open door. </p><p>“Hi,” Boba stood in the doorway; he wore a dark grey suit, and now that Din knew to look, he could see the monogram on the cuff of Boba’s shirt. Despite having been ready to go straight to Boba’s office and demand to talk to him, Din didn’t know what to say. He still had Boba’s shirt, freshly laundered and hanging in his own closet, waiting to be given back. </p><p>“Hey,” he pushed his chair away from the desk, standing, though he didn’t know what to do next. He crossed his arms over his chest. </p><p>“I, um. Sorry for not getting back to you this weekend,” Boba stepped into the room, closed the door behind him. He slid his hands into his pockets, gave Din a helpless sort of look that told Din he really hadn’t done anything to help Boba feel better, after last week. “I was working.” </p><p>“All weekend?” Din asked, and Boba shrugged; <em>Baby, </em>Din almost pleaded, the look on Boba’s face nearly enough to make him forget where he was. “Are you sure you don’t –” Din started, but changed his mind, didn’t want to make it that easy for Boba to dismiss again. “You can talk to me,” Din said instead. Boba came closer to him, leaned a hip against the desk, gaze flickering between Din’s face and the ground. “I <em>care </em>about what goes on with you, and I don’t – I’m not trying to <em>make </em>you talk about it, I just don’t think you’re… okay.” Din heard his voice trailing off quieter and quieter. He didn’t know <em>what </em>he was to Boba, exactly, didn’t want to announce to him that he didn’t seem alright, but – but Boba obviously <em>wasn’t. </em>The fact that it wasn’t a new hurt, that it seemed like Din had just… uncovered something that was always there, how was he supposed to make Boba feel safe enough to talk about that? It was something he already lived with, and Din was just… just making it worse by pointing it out.</p><p>“You don’t think I’m okay?” Boba said, and Din winced. </p><p>“I don’t mean it in a… your fault kind of way. I just feel bad about… not doing anything?” </p><p>“You want something to do?” Boba arched an eyebrow. Din chewed his lip, could feel the conversation slipping away from him, but that was what had happened last time, that was why he’d ended up having sex with Boba instead of actually <em>talking </em>to him. Din was terrible at this. </p><p>“I don’t mean,” he tried, but Boba was stepping closer and he smelled so good Din momentarily lost his train of thought. “I don’t <em>not </em>mean that, but I also mean other things.” </p><p>“But also this,” Boba set his hands on Din’s hips, tugging him closer; Din’s heart was immediately beating faster. </p><p>“And also <em>other </em>things,” he tried. Boba gave a small shrug, ducked his head and kissed along Din’s neck, and Din shivered despite himself. “Like… talking about it. Whatever you like, really.” </p><p>“Uh-huh,” Boba mumbled; he nudged Din backwards, until he bumped up against the wall. “You know what I liked? When you were riding my dick.” </p><p>“Oh, God,” Din exhaled, tipped his head back against the wall. He tried not to think about it, but his dick was already stiffening against his will. <em>Fuck, </em>he’d loved it though, could still feel Boba’s grip on his thighs, the feeling of grinding down on him, how <em>full </em>he’d felt – “Not… not really what I’m going for.” </p><p>“No?” Boba’s hand drifted from Din’s hip downwards, fingertips grazing over Din’s erection. Din groaned, felt himself twitch at Boba’s touch. “It was so <em>good</em>, though.” He gave Din’s dick a squeeze that made Din’s knees almost buckle, and Din pressed into the touch eagerly. </p><p>“Boba, you know –” Din tried, lost the rest to a moan when Boba rubbed him more firmly through his pants. <em>“Shit, </em>baby, come on–”</p><p>    “It’s fine,” Boba murmured into Din’s neck, pressing kisses along his jaw. “We don’t have to talk.” </p><p>    “But I <em>want </em>to talk.” </p><p>    “And I,” Boba unbuckled Din’s belt slowly, popped open the button on his pants, dragged down his zipper. “Want to do other things.” Din was quickly losing his argument, as Boba’s hand closed around him, rubbing along the hard length of him until Din was groaning, precum seeping through the fabric. Din’s hands pressed against the wall as he tried not to reach for Boba and fall fully into everything, he was supposed to be <em>talking. </em>It just felt so <em>good, </em>his hips giving little involuntary jerks every time Boba stroked him, eyes squeezed shut as he tried to get control of himself. </p><p>“You can’t,” Din tried, heard his own harsh breathing giving away how uncommitted he was to the statement. “We can’t do this instead of talk every time, okay–”</p><p>“Din,” Boba growled, and Din whined, dick twitching hard at the gruffness in Boba’s voice. “Why don’t you just let me do this?” </p><p>“Later, we’re gonna,” Din tried to sound resolute about it, even as he went weak-kneed as Boba’s hand moved over him, a small squeeze to the tip of his cock making him gasp. </p><p>The office door closed. Din flinched hard, and Boba whipped towards the sound; Fennec stood with the door at her back, and Din hadn’t even heard her <em>open </em>the door, and he was – oh, God, Boba’s hand was still on Din’s cock and he was obviously hard with his pants open, this was – this was <em>so fucking bad </em>–</p><p>“This is interesting,” Fennec said, voice cool. Din choked back a whimper, scrambling to zip his pants back up as Boba stepped in front of him. Din’s hands were shaking, and he leaned hard against the wall, wanted to duck behind Boba fully and hide. </p><p>“Fennec,” Boba didn’t so much as flinch. “I trust you’ll be discrete until we can discuss this.” How <em>wasn’t </em>he falling apart? Din thought he might have a full-blown anxiety attack. She’d seen Boba all-but jerking him off in his office, surely she was going straight to Risk and Ethics, and what would happen to them then, would Boba get in trouble? Would Din be fired? Had people heard about him wearing Boba’s shirt and then they’d hear about this, and –</p><p>“Of course,” Fennec was saying, “I think we have a lot to discuss.” </p><p>“Sure.” Boba sounded dismissive, and Din was practically shaking, heart trying to beat its way out of his chest. He wasn’t sure if the dread or the humiliation was worse, God, what had he been <em>thinking, </em>he was at fucking <em>work </em>and a coworker, a <em>superior, </em>had seen his dick. She had to have seen it, Boba was obviously jerking him off, she’d have to be blind not to have seen it. </p><p>“I’ll meet you at your office, then.” </p><p>“Fine, Fennec,” Boba said through his teeth. “I’ll meet you in my office. Please go.” </p><p>Fennec left the office, the door closing quietly behind her, as it to demonstrate how she’d been able to open it completely silently. Din exhaled a shaky breath as Boba turned to him. </p><p>“I’m so sorry,” Boba said, but he was still so <em>calm, </em>how was he so calm? Din was falling apart, hands fidgeting restlessly as he leaned against the wall for support, face still hot from humiliation. </p><p>“She,” Din choked out, “<em>Fuck, </em>Boba, she – she’s –”</p><p>“You have nothing to worry about,” Boba went to touch Din’s arm but seemed to stop himself, and drew back. Which was good, was better, because if anyone saw them, like Fennec had just seen them – <em>fuck, </em>fuck, she’d walked right in on them, and Din struggled not to collapse, slide down to the floor and sob. </p><p>“Nothing to worry about? I have a <em>lot </em>to worry about! She’s – she’ll – ”</p><p>“She’s not going to tell anyone.” </p><p>“You don’t know that!” </p><p>“I do,” Boba said, still so impossibly calm, “She’s going to use it, not report it. She’s going to want to be nominated for partner.” </p><p>“And?” </p><p>“And I’ll do it,” Boba said, almost sounded confused, like it was the obvious answer. Din felt wildly out of place, like maybe they’d witnessed entirely different things, or maybe Din was just completely losing his mind. “I promise. Everything will be fine. I’m going to go talk to her.” </p><p>Din could only nod, watched as Boba left the office, closed the door behind him. Din sank into his office chair, put his head in his hands and tried to calm down, but <em>how could he? </em>Things just went so downhill so quickly, and he’d just been trying to help, to get Boba to actually <em>talk </em>about things. </p><p>It was impossible to stop thinking about. Din tried to get back to work, but he couldn’t focus, couldn’t finish reading a single sentence without his thoughts snapping back to it. Every time someone walked by his office, his head snapped up, heart racing, as though he could be caught doing something incriminating at any moment, even though he was just <em>working. </em>Boba didn’t come back, and Din was afraid to text him – what if that made it worse? What if that proved it was – was premeditated, or something? What if that got Boba in <em>more </em>trouble? Did sexual harassment <em>have </em>premeditation? Din couldn’t breathe.  </p><p>Din lasted an hour; when someone knocking at the office <em>next door</em> made him drop his cup of coffee and spill it everywhere, he decided he was too much of a nervous wreck to make it to the end of the day. He grabbed his things, peeked down the hallway to make sure he wouldn’t run into Boba, and snuck out without running into anyone who stopped him. </p><p>It was a half hour walk back home, but Din couldn’t stand the thought of waiting for Bart, or even being near that many people. He was too edgy to stand still, anyways; how was he supposed to show back up at work and face anyone again? What if Fennec <em>didn’t </em>want to use it for blackmail, or she wanted more than to just be made a partner? What if it was found out, that Boba’s partner nomination was a product of blackmail? Din couldn’t stop finding himself back in the office, the moments just after Fennec closed the door. How much had she seen? And what they’d said, <em>why don’t you just let me do this </em>sounded so different out of context, she wouldn’t know Din had been trying to coax Boba into talking about what was wrong, that Boba hadn’t wanted to –</p><p>And why <em>hadn’t </em>he wanted to? Din stopped at the corner of a street, floored by the thought. He missed the pedestrian walk sign, had to wait for the next one as cars raced by. Why <em>hadn’t </em>Boba wanted to talk to him, today or on Wednesday? Hadn’t let Din ask about it, hadn’t turned to him for comfort, and when he’d cried it had been like he was trying to keep quiet, had turned away to hide. Because he hadn’t wanted Din to know, hadn’t wanted Din to get involved in anything – anything real. </p><p>They weren’t <em>dating, </em>how had Din forgotten that? What if Boba only wanted a physical relationship with Din, and that was why he was keeping Din at arm’s length? The signs were all there, it was all written in stone, and just because Din had refused to read it didn’t mean it hadn’t already been decided for him.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>A week went by. </p><p>Din avoided Boba at work, and found that if he didn’t text Boba first, he didn’t hear from Boba at all. He pushed through the week as best he could, kept his head down in the war room because if he so much as looked at Fennec, the sheer humiliation would probably kill him. </p><p>The only time Din saw Boba was on Friday, when he came into the conference room to tell the team that the client was taking a plea deal, and he hadn’t met Din’s eyes once. Din was afraid to look at him, with Fennec right across the table; she seemed uninterested in Din and only shot Boba a cool look when he came into the room. Din was afraid to ask how the negotiations had gone, but he hadn’t heard anything since, and that – that had to be good, or as good as things could be under the circumstances. It wasn’t like he’d been expecting a personal update, but it would have been nice, to know if things were solved or if he should still be sick with worry every time his phone rang. </p><p>By Monday, the team had been dissolved, Din hadn’t heard from Boba all weekend, and he was staring to wonder if it was really a breakup if they weren’t dating, if Boba was just responding to Din’s efforts to avoid him and respecting his need for space at work, if the end had already happened. But – Boba could have called on the weekend. Maybe he thought Din didn’t want him to. </p><p>“You remember it’s on Saturday, right?” Cara’s voice barely registered with Din; they were standing at the coffee bar, and Din was staring down at the cup in his hand, remembering when Boba would bring him iced coffee. It felt like months ago. </p><p>“What’s on Saturday?” </p><p>“The firm holiday party.” </p><p>“Oh. Yeah.” He hadn’t. He’d barely even realized it was December already, let alone nearly two weeks into the month. Din took a sip of his coffee and nearly spat it back out when he realized he hadn’t added anything to it yet. He sighed, reached for the creamer. </p><p>“Have a tux?” </p><p>“What? Of course not.” </p><p>“Din, it’s black tie.” </p><p>“So? A suit is black tie, right?” </p><p>“I don’t think it is.” Cara looked around. “Where’s Cobb when you need him? He’d know what constitutes black tie for men.” </p><p>“Black tie means a tux.” Din would recognize that voice anywhere. He turned, to find Boba looking right at him, for what felt like the first time in weeks. Din fought the urge to check to see if anyone was watching them. This wasn’t incriminating, he was just talking to Boba, it was <em>fine,</em> probably. Cara was rolling her eyes and turning back to the coffee. </p><p>“Okay, yeah, but… a suit would also be fine, right?” No one in the room was even <em>looking </em>at them, but still Din felt hot, overly seen. He hadn’t been this close to Boba in such a long time, and the last time had been –  </p><p>“No.” Boba frowned slightly. “It wouldn’t be fine. What, you don’t believe me about this, either?” It was too sharp, too biting; Din withdrew, felt his face heating up. What if someone <em>heard </em>Boba? </p><p>“I don’t <em>not believe </em>you,” Din tried not to be so quiet that it was incriminating, or loud enough to be overheard; it was a hard balance to strike. “I’m just – <em>stressed.” </em></p><p>“I told you it was fine.” Din could <em>read </em>things on his face, normally; he was always so good at it, but he couldn’t figure out anything now. </p><p>“<em>I </em>don’t think it’s fine. <em>You’re </em>not the one whose –” he cut off, clenched his teeth. The memory still burned in his mind like it had happened only minutes ago. It wasn’t like it was up to Boba, to decide if this was a big deal; <em>he </em>wasn’t the one who had trouble sleeping because he couldn’t stop thinking about the most humiliating moment in his life and everything that came with it. </p><p>And how dare he tell Din what to feel, anyways, when he wouldn’t share his own feelings with Din? Din kept waking up alone and feeling achingly lonely and then so stupid for missing him. He was fucking <em>broken, </em>suddenly, couldn’t sleep and couldn’t figure out what the hell they were to each other and couldn’t jerk off successfully because he’d start panicking about getting walked in on even in his locked fucking bedroom and couldn’t even talk to Boba in the office without feeling like one or both of them would get fired. And Din <em>missed him. </em></p><p>Boba fidgeted with his watch, looking away, and honestly, Din had <em>never </em>known what he was thinking, and he definitely didn’t now. Mostly, Boba just looked like a man entirely out of Din’s league, with no place in Din’s life. </p><p>“Fine,” Din snapped, “I’ll get a tux. Whatever.” He stalked out of the room, remembered at the last minute that he’d been with Cara, but then she was at his elbow, saving him from having to go back into the room. </p><p>“Uh, what was that?” Cara whispered. </p><p>“Nothing, he’s just – you know how he is,” Din muttered; he followed Cara into her office, dropped into one of the chairs in front of her desk and glowered sullenly at his cup of coffee as she circled around her desk to sit in the office chair. He hadn’t realized he was so angry at Boba, but it had been a week of sleepless nights and lonely mornings and he’d really thought Boba would at least text him over the weekend and the silence had hurt more than he’d been expecting. It just seemed to prove that they’d never had anything real. </p><p>“If you were being harassed by one of the partners, you’d tell me, right?” Cara asked. She was studying him intently across the desk, fingers tapping restlessly against the desktop. </p><p>“<em>Harassed?” </em>Din echoed. Did this have to do with Shand? Had she <em>told </em>Cara? </p><p>“I heard one of the partners is taking advantage of junior associates, and I just wanted to make sure you’re okay. You know you could tell me, right?” This was definitely because of Shand. Din hoped he wasn’t turning an incriminating shade of red. </p><p>“I promise I’d tell you,” he said. “Is that, uh. Happening? To someone?” He watched Cara fidget with a highlighter, the end bouncing up and down against the desk. Behind her, the window overlooked a sky more overcast than it had been just a few hours ago. </p><p>“Someone told me they walked in on a partner with a junior associate. And I’m just <em>worried, </em>because it doesn’t sound like they’re going to report it, you know?” </p><p>“So… it’s fine, then?” Din took a sip of his coffee, tried to appear casual. He really did prefer it iced, couldn’t stop thinking about the way Boba had looked like he was afraid it was a gesture that wouldn’t be taken positively. He’d never figured out how Boba knew to get him iced coffee specifically, either. Din had always wondered if it was a lucky guess, if it was such a generic favorite to have that it wasn’t hard to figure out, or if he’d actually put effort into finding out. Probably one of the first two explanations.  </p><p>“Well, that isn’t really <em>fine,” </em>Cara insisted, “The person who found out just wants to use it against the partner, but what about the poor junior associate? If it doesn’t get reported, this can keep going on, and then what happens to them?” </p><p>“They’re an adult,” Din shrugged, to a peculiar look from Cara that told him that wasn’t how he’d normally respond. “Sorry, I just… don’t know enough about it.” </p><p>“Maybe if it was one of the <em>good </em>partners, I’d believe it was okay,” Cara said, and Din resented the twinge of sympathy he still felt towards Boba. <em>He’s not like that, </em>Din always wanted to protest, but then why hadn’t Boba so much as tried to talk to him, in the last week? He <em>knew </em>Din cared about him. Din had been trying so fucking hard to get him to open up, Boba had to know that came from a place of deep affection. Of – of maybe being a little in love with him, and the way he whimpered when Din kissed him and the shy peeks of a sensitive nature and the thoughtful little gestures like getting Din coffee – </p><p>“Like, Cobb, or Emily,” Cara was going on, “someone who’s actually a nice person? Who you could see wanting anything from, other than a partner recommendation? Or, and I can’t believe I’m saying this, I’d even see someone finding something appealing about <em>Paz.</em>”</p><p>“Some people might find the sports references endearing.” The problem hadn’t been that Boba had nothing to offer. It was that he guarded it so closely, that Din had been an idiot to think it would be given to him.</p><p>“I’m just worried about whoever it is. You know how it gets around here! So <em>competitive, </em>and you feel like you have to take every single opportunity for advancement that you can get, and what if someone thought this was one? But it’s – it’s just not <em>right </em>of him to make them think that.” </p><p>“I don’t know, Cara,” Din sighed. He hated to be realizing it now, while listening to Cara worry about a junior associate in over their head with a pushy partner when the reality was that the junior associate had been stupid enough to develop feelings, to want nothing from the relationship but the partner himself, the only thing he couldn’t have. Din would have been better off asking Boba for a fucking partner nomination, he was more likely to have gotten that than what he did want: to wake up beside Boba every morning, to be the safe place where he could open up, to be someone he trusted. </p><p>“Okay, what’s going on?” Cara slapped the highlighter down, and Din jumped at the noise. “Sorry. But what is it? Normally, you’d be as furious as I am about someone getting taken advantage of! And now it’s ‘oh, a partner trading promotions for sex is okay’?” She frowned, and Din could tell before she said anything that she was going to guess the right subject. “How’s it going with that guy you were seeing?” </p><p>“It’s over.” Din rolled his cup between his hands, head down. “Or, well. It was probably never as serious as I thought it was. I pushed too hard.” </p><p>“I literally do not believe you.” </p><p>“No, I… I really did. He was going through some shit, and I tried to make him talk about it.” </p><p>“Oh no,” Cara deadpanned, “the horror. Din, honey –”</p><p>“I was out of my depth. I thought I’d just – just walk right into a relationship with someone like that, like he wouldn’t <em>notice </em>I was doing it? And then he went through a rough time and when I tried to make him talk about it, all it did was make him realize I was much too close to him.” He hated how true it felt as he was saying it out loud. How hadn’t he <em>seen </em>that? Boba hadn’t contacted him, and it wasn’t because he was unsettled by what happened with Fennec. It was because he thought Din might try again to force him to talk about things. “It’s over. It was never really there.” </p><p>“It was for you,” Cara said softly. Din bit his lip, shrugged. Did that matter? It didn’t feel like it. “I’m so sorry. He should have appreciated what he had.”</p><p>“He didn’t want it,” Din mumbled. “I should have seen that.” It was so obvious in retrospect. Everything he’d ever told Din had to be practically pried out of him, and the one time he was really, truly upset, he’d turned away. Had cried like he didn’t want Din to hear, like Din wasn’t supposed to be there but he just couldn’t keep it in anymore. </p><p>    “Din…” </p><p>    “I should get back to work,” Din said, standing. “I’ll see you later?” </p><p>    “Okay,” Cara said, but she was still looking at him like she thought he might break down right in front of her. Din left her office, and though he took a longer route than necessary, to deliberately avoid both the coffee bar and the way back Boba might have taken, his efforts were foiled as soon as he turned the corner right by his office. Boba was standing right outside his office, one shoulder leaned against the wall, a stack of folders in his hands. </p><p>    “Need something?” Din asked as he approached, nodded towards the files. Boba’s head jerked up. </p><p>    “Uh, no. I... “ He glanced towards the door, but Din wasn’t about to invite him in; what if someone <em>else </em>saw them alone together, what if Fennec saw them <em>again? </em></p><p>    “So… no?” Din prompted, maybe a little too sharply. It was just so hard to look at Boba, to have <em>feelings </em>for him, to love the secret softness of him and to realize that it had only ever been shown to Din unintentionally. Sometimes, Boba was just so <em>vulnerable, </em>but Din wondered for the first time if it was even voluntary. </p><p>    “No.” It was almost inaudible. </p><p>“Well, then. I won’t keep you,” Din said, and Boba gave a small nod, retreated back up the hallway. Din felt almost guilty, but he couldn’t just wait around to be pushed away again. It would happen eventually, he could finally see that, and it was his own fault for refusing to see it before. Inevitable, pre-determined by Boba himself; Din wasn’t going to be able to change that.</p>
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<a name="section0011"><h2>11. Chapter 11</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>hello and welcome to the chapter that was the entire point of this fic!!</p><p>(ps don't forget i'm icehot13 on tumblr if you'd like to join me for more yelling about boba/din)</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>   For a brief moment, Boba had been looking forward to the holiday party. It had crossed his mind back in November, and it had been just a tiny, fleeting thought; he’d been coming into the building and spotted Din waiting for an elevator, and just seeing him across the room had flooded Boba with such helpless affection, because Din was <em>his, </em>was safe, would smile if Boba walked up to him. He’d been looking forward to seeing Din at the party and for the first time feeling almost like he’d come <em>with </em>someone, that he had someone he belonged with. </p><p>It didn’t feel like that. From the moment Boba showed up at the Legion of Honor on Saturday evening, he felt alone. Tiny white lights glittered just beneath the glass ceiling of the outdoor space, a string quartet playing in the corner; he made his way through the groups of people, dutifully greeting the coworkers he had to acknowledge, making his rounds and wondering just how long he had to stay. </p><p>When he spotted Fennec standing at one of the cocktail tables with a few other senior partners, he tried to duck away before she noticed him, but a hand on his elbow almost the moment he’d turned his back told him he was too late. </p><p>“Nice to see you,” she said, and Boba reluctantly turned. On Fennec, the deep sapphire blue of her dress somehow managed to look cold, the jewel tone icy and sharp. Maybe it was the sharpness of her shoulders, or the way she tilted her head. </p><p>“Hi, Fennec.” </p><p>“How was the partner meeting?” She smiled, and there wasn’t an ounce of friendliness to it. She’d already removed her hand from his arm. </p><p>“Excellent. I’m sure people are still talking about it,” Boba said flatly. “It’s not every day I nominate someone for partner. It’s never happened, in fact. You must be something pretty special.” </p><p>Fennec’s eyes narrowed, and the spiteful part of Boba hoped she was seeing a flaw in her already-enacted plan. The other partners were already wondering why Boba would only now nominate someone for partner, and why he would choose <em>Fennec, </em>who he’d never said anything about one way or another. There had been more than a few startled looks; he’d all-but fled the meeting afterwards, so Cobb in particular couldn’t grill him about it. Boba hoped the suspicions would haunt her forever, after the look she’d put on Din’s face. Boba had never <em>seen </em>him like that, Din an anxious, near-hysterical wreck, embarrassed and afraid and pulling away from him. It was Boba’s fault, it was <em>entirely </em>Boba’s fault, but he wasn’t a good enough man not to hope Fennec suffered for it, too.</p><p>“Indeed,” she said, and Boba shrugged. </p><p>“I’m sure you’ll live up to everyone’s expectations,” he said, dropped his voice and added, “And I’m <em>sure </em>you’ll live up to <em>mine, </em>and never mention this again.” </p><p>“Noted,” Fennec spat, and Boba finally turned away. He tried not to look for Din in every group of people he passed, but it was like an instinct he couldn’t turn off. He <em>knew </em>it wasn’t really because of Fennec, knew that wasn’t why Din had pulled back. Din had wanted more from him, Din had wanted something <em>real </em>from him, and Boba was the one who had started taking steps backwards first because how – how was he supposed to <em>do that? </em>To let Din see all the fucked up parts of himself that would make Din <em>not </em>want him? </p><p>“Boba! Just the man I was looking for,” Cobb’s voice came out of nowhere, although Boba didn’t know how he could have <em>missed </em>Cobb. Cobb was the only man alive who could wear a velvet, black-paisley patterned tux and still look gorgeous. </p><p>“You were <em>not </em>looking for me,” Boba said through his teeth, “and what the fuck are you wearing? Who has a patterned tux?” The pocket square and bow tie were a rich red to offset the deep velvet, and Boba couldn’t <em>imagine </em>walking around wearing that. Cobb flashed a grin at him, gestured with his wine glass to indicate Boba’s tux. Boba felt himself redden, though he knew he looked perfectly normal and wasn’t making nearly as much of a statement as Cobb. </p><p>“Clearly not you. Classic always suited you, though. And who says I wasn’t looking for you! I like to make a point of seeing you at these events.” </p><p>“Why?” Boba said, resented the heat rising in his face as Cobb looked him up and down. </p><p>“To see you in a tux, why else?” </p><p>“Oh, fuck off,” Boba huffed, and Cobb laughed. </p><p>“What! I mean it! Can’t a guy still find his ex-boyfriend attractive? You’ve got that cold, detached thing going, and I can really get behind that.” </p><p>“I don’t have… that,” Boba muttered, as Cobb turned away to see what was on the tray held by a passing waiter, apparently didn’t like what he saw and turned back to Boba. </p><p>“I see you didn’t bring a date,” Cobb said, made a show of looking around, “Things didn’t work out? And here I’d thought you’d finally settled down.” </p><p>“Did you <em>want </em>something, Cobb?” Boba snapped. </p><p>“Just making small talk. Do you not keep tabs on what I’ve been up to? I’m hurt.” </p><p>“I really, truly don’t, Cobb.” He had, for a while after they’d broken up; all it had done was show him that Cobb was perfectly capable of having normal relationships, and hadn’t been the problem. </p><p>“Don’t tell me you pulled the same emotional disappearing act on him? It is your signature,” Cobb said, and Boba grit his teeth, wondered if he could just <em>leave, </em>if maybe he should just quit this fucking firm and go work somewhere <em>without </em>his ex-boyfriend, who he’d once made cry in the library on campus, Cobb struggling to stay silent as tears rolled down his cheeks and Boba said <em>we’ve never been like that, what are you talking about. </em></p><p>“I don’t have a – fuck, Cobb, I’m not <em>discussing </em>this with you,” Boba hissed, “we’re not going to have some goddamn autopsy of my – my failed – whatever –” </p><p>“Relationship? Goddamn, you can’t even say it <em>after </em>they’ve ended,” Cobb shook his head, and that was <em>more </em>than enough for Boba. </p><p>“Whatever, Cobb, fuck. See you later.” He didn’t give Cobb the chance to protest, left as quickly as he could manage without looking like he was running away. Hearing Cobb accuse him of repeating history on someone else was the <em>last </em>thing he needed, because it just - it hadn’t been like that. It had been <em>different, </em>with Din. Boba had tried, he’d <em>tried, </em>and it had just been so fucking hard that he couldn’t do it but that hadn’t meant he’d been ready to <em>stop </em>trying. It wasn’t fair to expect Din to keep waiting around, but - but that didn’t mean Boba had given up on trying. </p><p>He wasn’t sure when keeping an eye out for Din had turned to actively looking for him, but suddenly, that’s what he was doing, scanning small crowds for him, hoping desperately to find him. He had no plan for what he could say to Din, had no real faith he’d be able to explain himself when he hadn’t even managed a proper apology last time he’d seen Din, but being without him was an unbearable state. </p><p>The party overflowed from the outdoor courtyard to several galleries within the museum; it was quieter inside, most of the people indoors gathered in the main room of the three Rodin sculpture galleries. Boba spotted several of the junior associates that had been on his case – and how was that <em>over, </em>suddenly, it was like waking up a month later than expected, the case over and his whatever-it-was with Din suddenly in pieces. Paz thankfully wasn’t with them, the only team member who would have been bold enough to actually talk to Boba; it was just the junior associates – Toro, in a truly hideous powder-blue tux, was the only one whose name Boba remembered, standing there along with the redheaded one whose main occupation was kissing Paz’s ass, a couple others he recognized only vaguely, and – and Din. </p><p>Din had rented a tux, despite his earlier protesting about the dress code, during that conversation that had gone so achingly wrong. Somehow, he managed to look both awkward and gorgeous, clearly unused to the tux as well as the occasion for wearing it. He’d slicked his hair back and shaved his beard so only the mustache remained, and <em>fuck, </em>Boba was reeling at the sight of him. He almost couldn’t do it, walk right up to Din and actually <em>speak </em>to him. </p><p><em>I’ve kissed him, </em>Boba reminded himself, but it felt untrue, with so much time standing between him and the last time he’d been allowed to do so. Din wasn’t wearing his glasses, and that was what made Boba just <em>ache </em>to have him back, that tiny, self-conscious action that endeared Din to him so deeply. Din hated contacts, he knew, and didn’t even own any, but had probably thought the glasses didn’t go with the formality of the tux and still chosen not to wear them. </p><p>Boba slipped through the crowd and took a breath to steady himself before he reached out and touched Din’s elbow. Din turned, and Boba watched the look on his face go from surprised to suspicious in a matter of milliseconds. </p><p>“Can you – uh, talk to – to me?” Boba had apparently lost all ability to speak to Din once again, felt himself turning crimson as he stumbled over the words. Din felt like a stranger again, and it was <em>worse, </em>to feel awkward and unfamiliar in front of him but also to remember that Din knew so <em>much </em>about him. How was Boba supposed to live with that, to handle being seen by someone who knew all the ways he wasn’t good enough. </p><p>“Sure,” Din said; he no longer looked perplexed when Boba handed him garbled sentences, and Boba supposed that was a good thing, though it just served to make him miserable. He slipped away from the group without anyone seeming to notice, and he led Boba around the corner, into one of the quieter galleries, only a few people milling around the main statue. “Look,” Din said, before Boba could come up with anything to actually say, “I get it, I get what happened. I don’t want some not-really-a-breakup speech that I try to analyze to death later.” </p><p>“It’s not a breakup,” Boba said, because whatever he’d been wanting to say to Din, it wasn’t <em>that, </em>how could it ever be that? How could he ever walk up to Din and say he didn’t <em>want </em>him? Boba knew he was bad for Din, <em>pointless </em>for Din, but oh, God, he could never be strong enough to actually walk away first. </p><p>“Just –” Din drew in a breath, jaw tight, “Don’t be a dick about this, okay? Please? You don’t have to be willing to talk to me about anything, you’ve made that really clear.” Boba didn’t want to be angry, but he couldn’t handle being hurt; he knew there was no expectation to be had for fairness, not in anything, but it <em>wasn’t fair, </em>what Din had been asking him to do. </p><p>“You’re mad I didn’t want to talk about things?” Boba snapped, because if he wasn’t angry, this was going to be so much worse. “And, what, that was <em>new </em>information for you? No, Din, I don’t want to talk about –” God, he couldn’t even summarize it, even the thought of the conversation Din had been trying to have made anxiety rise in his chest. “I’m sorry I got us caught, but I took <em>care </em>of it. Shouldn’t that count for something?” </p><p>“You gave in to blackmail,” Din muttered, almost bitterly. “What exactly is that supposed to count for?” </p><p>“I didn’t <em>give in,” </em>Boba snapped, “And what else was I supposed to do? Just let her tell everyone? I was protecting <em>you.” </em></p><p>“No, you weren’t,” Din was suddenly so much closer to him, and <em>God, </em>it wasn’t the time, but Boba hadn’t touched him in weeks and Din was practically backing him up against the wall, voice dipping to an angry growl. “You were protecting yourself.” </p><p><em>“Myself?” </em>Boba hissed, and no, no he <em>hadn’t, </em>he didn’t give a fuck if Fennec told everyone about him, it was <em>Din </em>he wanted desperately to protect. Din had looked so panicked, so <em>scared, </em>it had been entirely Boba’s fault and taking care of it was the <em>only thing </em>he could do. It was his fault that look had been on Din’s face in the first place and it felt like the worst thing he’d ever done, coax Din into feeling comfortable and safe, made him fall apart and then, then let someone <em>see </em>him. </p><p>“It’s all you do! It’s why you wouldn’t <em>talk to me </em>about <em>anything. </em>What was the point of keeping me around? You sure didn’t have an emotional connection.” Din was <em>angry, </em>Boba knew, he <em>knew, </em>but for a second, all he could register was how much bigger than him Din was, the sheer broadness of him; Boba squirmed beneath his gaze, hated himself for being <em>aroused </em>as Din was snarling at him but he hadn’t touched Din in weeks and ached for him. How could Din think he didn’t have an emotional connection? Boba missed him so much it hurt every single morning he woke up without Din beside him. </p><p>“I <em>know </em>I have no right to be upset,” Din’s voice dropped to a deep, quiet growl, his dark eyes intense and <em>hurt, </em>and Boba felt so guilty, for being turned on while Din was angry and <em>hurting, </em>but he just – he had just felt so safe when Din was holding him, and the <em>size </em>of him, God, Boba had never felt the way he did when he was in Din’s arms. </p><p>Boba didn’t notice himself taking a step backwards until he felt the wall at his back, and all he could do was look at Din, his devastatingly handsome face, his dark, dark eyes. What was <em>wrong </em>with Boba, that he couldn’t give himself over to Din, that he just kept holding back, that even <em>now, </em>even with Din hurt and ready to leave, Boba <em>still couldn’t. </em>It would be worse, it would be so much worse, and how couldn’t Din see that? If he knew everything, he would <em>pity </em>Boba, would see the pathetic, broken pieces of him and never be able to look past them. It didn’t matter; it didn’t matter. Din would hate him now or pity him later, Boba was going to lose him either way and he needed to do it in a way he could survive. </p><p>“You can’t just <em>use </em>me like that, and then get mad when I try to fucking <em>care </em>about you,” Din said, and Boba reeled back at the accusation, heart suddenly racing. </p><p>“<em>Use </em>you?” he repeated, “What the fuck, Din, <em>use you?” </em>The one thing, the <em>one thing </em>Boba hadn’t fucked up, was his intention. Din was the best, most perfect thing he’d ever had, and Din thought Boba could live with hurting him? With <em>intending </em>to hurt him? </p><p>“Yeah,” Din snapped, “Or what else would you call it, besides just using me for sex. There was no emotional connection to speak of, remember? You wouldn’t even <em>talk </em>to me.” </p><p>“That has nothing to do with it!” Boba’s voice was suddenly much too loud, echoing in the high-ceilinged room, and he took a shaking breath, tried to force himself to keep it together. “I didn’t – I <em>didn’t –” </em>he was losing the ability to string together coherent sentences again, he was good at being angry, if snapping out fully-constructed arguments could be considered good, but he was useless when he was distraught, always had been. “Using you for – Din, <em>no. </em>It wasn’t like that. It isn’t, it – it wasn’t <em>like that –”</em></p><p>“Well, I sure wasn’t good enough for anything else,” Din’s jaw was tight, shoulders tensed, and it would be impossible to touch him, to ever feel like Boba could. “Everyone was right about you,” he said, but it had felt like he’d seen something else, something <em>more; </em>how had Boba ever believed that? “I don’t know why I thought <em>I </em>would be the one to change that.” </p><p>“You <em>knew </em>who I was, Din,” Boba managed, and it was sharp because if it wasn’t, it would be dissolving, crumpling into ash. “You knew it wasn’t something that could change. If you didn’t like anything about me, why were you <em>here?” </em></p><p>And wasn’t that it, the one missing piece, the one thing Boba had <em>never understood. </em>Why had it ever started? Why had he been given the opportunity to get this far, like a mistake he ran away with for as long as he could, why had he ever been allowed to have Din even for a brief, blissful moment? This was never going to be his to keep but why had he ever been allowed to think it would be? </p><p>Din just looked at him for a long moment, and then, he lied. </p><p>“I don’t know,” he said, like Boba wouldn’t be able to read it on his face, that he was being kind to Boba one last time, that even when angry Din was still himself – still gentle, still kind, still unwilling to hurt him. </p><p>It was all Boba could take. Din didn’t stop him from leaving, and even when Boba looked over his shoulder once, twice, didn’t follow. Which – which was fine. Boba clearly couldn’t be trusted to try and talk about his feelings with Din, after that absolute disaster. He didn’t know what he’d wanted, but – but not <em>that. </em>Not to hurt Din, not to snarl and glare and hear that Din thought Boba was willing to hurt him. He really hadn’t understood Boba, if he’d thought that was possible. </p><p>Boba’s heart was still racing wildly, like he hadn’t actually escaped the argument; he ducked into the bathroom to hide in a stall and wait for his breathing to slow back down, until he could do anything besides fall apart. It had just – just gone so badly. When had everything started to go so <em>wrong? </em>A few weeks ago, Din had called him <em>baby </em>and let Boba wear his flannel shirt and kissed him; how was Boba now here, reeling from hearing Din accuse him of being purposefully cruel, of being exactly what everyone had always said? </p><p>He checked his watch, dismayed that it was still too early to just go home. Though, would anyone really notice? He could just slip away, had already spoken to several partners and proved he’d shown up. The thought of running into Din again made his chest constrict. How could he <em>ever </em>face Din again, knowing Din felt used by him? Felt like Boba thought he wasn’t <em>good enough? </em>He was the best thing Boba had ever known. </p><p><em>I’m the one who’s not good enough, </em>he should have told Din, and hadn’t, <em>hadn’t, </em>because Din was right about him, <em>everyone </em>was right about him, Boba couldn’t change if he wanted to, couldn’t even change for Din, he wasn’t good enough and he never <em>could </em>be. He was protecting himself, because he was too fucking afraid to hear Din agree with him. </p><p>Though he had no plan for how to avoid Din, Boba left the bathroom, telling himself that he’d go so far as to seek out Paz if he had to; surely Din would be avoiding Paz already, and Paz could be heard from across a football field. Possibly a holdover from playing on one. Boba dreaded the rest of the evening. </p><p>It only took a few minutes to pick up Paz’s voice, from somewhere near the entrance to the terrace. Boba sighed and started over, but before he could reach Paz, a woman stepped into his path and suddenly, he was face to face with Cara. </p><p>“Hi,” he said, when she wouldn’t stop looking at him. “Nice to see you.” </p><p>“I’ve been wanting to have a word with you,” Cara said, and before Boba could think of a way to protest, because he’d had his fill of shitty, painful conversations tonight, she was dragging him by the elbow to the corner of the room, and <em>that </em>couldn’t be a good sign. Cara was usually pretty reserved, played by the rules, and hauling a partner across the room was hardly something he’d expect from her, though it fit the absolute fury on her face when she turned to him. </p><p>“I <em>know </em>what you’ve been doing,” she whispered fiercely, although her hands being planted on her hips was a clear giveaway that their conversation wasn’t a friendly one, even if no one could overhear them. “And I <em>know </em>you’re getting away with it.” </p><p>“What am I doing?” Boba asked, and it was a stupid thing to say, but he was just so tired suddenly, so overdrawn and exhausted. Din thought he was a bad person; Boba just didn’t have the strength to keep hearing it from all sides. </p><p>“Listen, Fett, I don’t know which junior associate you’ve been <em>coercing, </em>but I know that it’s not going to get reported, although it <em>should. </em>Just because she’s too afraid to say no to you-”</p><p>“Who?” Boba asked, to a seething look from Cara, but God, he just really didn’t know. He wanted to go home, and fuck it, he was <em>going </em>to. Forget hiding from Din all evening, forget talking to anyone else, he was going to go home and sleep in the bed he’d never again share with Din and be alone. </p><p>“The junior associate!” </p><p>“Oh.” So Din really hadn’t told her about things between them. How could Boba still be hurt <em>more </em>than he already was? Din had kept him a secret, because Boba was no fucking good for him. And – there Din was, on the other side of the room, and Boba hoped desperately he wouldn’t look over. </p><p>“My God, you don’t even sound sorry,” Cara snapped, “What <em>is </em>it with men like you? You think you can use people because what <em>you </em>want is the most important thing.” Over her shoulder, he could see Din talking to – to Cobb. Smiling at him. Boba’s heart twisted painfully. </p><p>“You don’t even know what happened, Cara!” Boba saw the way his harsh tone made her eyes narrow, but he couldn’t stop himself, she thought he would use Din too, as if he would <em>ever, </em>but did it matter, if everyone thought he could? Did it matter if he wouldn’t, if everyone thought he was capable of it anyways? “What the fuck is this, cross blackmailing? Let me clue you in, <em>you </em>don’t have anything on me. Say what you want to whoever you want, but <em>you </em>didn’t see anything, and <em>you </em>don’t have anything to hold over my head. What’re you going to do? Go to Risk and Ethics and tell them I fucked a junior associate but you don’t know which one, didn’t see it yourself, and I know Fennec won’t back you up because she <em>got </em>what she wanted already. You know what’ll come of that? <em>Nothing. </em>Just you looking vindictive.<em>” </em></p><p>“How can you live with yourself?” Cara hissed, “No, Fett, I can’t <em>prove </em>anything to anyone, but you had better hope I never catch you trying this again.” <em>Trying this again? </em>Boba was never going through this shit again as long as he lived. All he’d accomplished was hurting Din, why would he ever try this <em>again? </em>And now he’d somehow gained the reputation for coercing junior associates? It would be laughable if it wasn’t so infuriatingly wrong. </p><p>“You didn’t catch me <em>this </em>time,” Boba sneered, and he was sure that if they weren’t in the middle of a professional holiday party in a museum, Cara would have slapped him. </p><p>“Do you not feel <em>bad </em>for being like this?” Cara sounded like she <em>wanted </em>to hurt him, but he was so fucking used to it by now, and she seemed to pick up on that, shaking her head. “Forget it. God, I will never understand why Din feels bad for you, there really isn’t anything there,” she muttered, half under her breath. Boba froze. </p><p>“What? Din – Din feels bad for me?” It felt like being punched, and he struggled to take a steadying breath. </p><p>“Don’t flatter yourself. It says more about him than anything redeeming about you,” Cara rolled her eyes. “He could feel sorry for anyone, no matter how much of an asshole they are. As far as I’m concerned, you don’t deserve pity.” </p><p>That was why. That was the answer Din hadn’t been willing to give him. Din had lied to him, because even now, he knew it would <em>ruin </em>Boba, to know that Din was only with him out of <em>pity. </em></p><p>Boba couldn’t manage a response, throat closing up, chest tight; Din had never liked him, just felt <em>sorry </em>for him and his pathetic self-loathing. What must have Din have thought, when he came over and had to put up with Boba sulking after the hearing? When Boba had been feeling sorry for himself in Seattle and texting Din far too much about it, when Din had to hear about Boba’s not even that objectively <em>bad </em>childhood, and he must have thought Boba was so pathetic, broken so easily. </p><p>“There you are,” a woman came up to Cara and placed a hand on her arm, and when Cara looked towards her, face lighting up in a way that made it clear this was her other half, Boba took the opportunity to duck away, suddenly very afraid he was going to cry. </p><p>He gave up on staying a respectable amount of time, and headed towards the exit. No one would even notice he’d left, and he surely couldn’t hold it together enough to talk to anyone, and just the sight of Din would probably bring him to tears. Din, who felt <em>bad </em>for him, who held Boba because he was a broken thing Din couldn’t turn away. How early on had he known? What had tipped him off? </p><p>“Wait, wait,” he heard, flinched at the sound of Din’s voice, and he didn’t intend to stop but then Din had caught up with him, wrapped his hand around Boba’s wrist. Boba bit down on his lower lip to stop it from trembling, couldn’t make himself meet Din’s eyes. “I’m sorry, that got … out of hand. Boba –”</p><p>“I’m leaving,” Boba said, and tears stung at his eyes, dangerously close to spilling over. Din <em>pitied him, </em>he couldn’t stop thinking it, the realization seeping into every memory he had. He’d <em>cried </em>in front of Din, had reached for him for comfort and Din must have understood why no one had ever wanted him before. </p><p>“No, let me – please, baby–” Din pleaded, as Boba pulled back from his grip, and the <em>baby </em>wrecked Boba, the soft, <em>pitying </em>note to it, and how, how hadn’t Boba heard that all along? Boba left as quickly as he could, breathing hitching pitifully even before he made it all the way outside. </p><p>Getting his car back from the valet felt like it took much longer than five minutes, and he kept telling himself that all he had to do was drive home and go upstairs, but as the five minutes passed, it just felt like much too long a time to get through. He told himself he’d be fine, as soon as he drove away, but the encompassing silence of the car made it <em>worse, </em>not better. </p><p>He didn’t want to go home, didn’t want to go <em>anywhere, </em>didn’t want to sit in the cocooning silence of the car, and he ended up parking at the far end of Chrissy Field after taking a wrong turn that was too much effort to undo, and once he was there, he just stayed. It was too dark to see much of the rocks leading to the ocean, but the Golden Gate Bridge stretched over the water, glittering with lights, and when he rolled the windows down, he could hear the ocean. </p><p>He was fine. He was fine. Din had only ever tolerated him out of pity and had somehow looked at him and just <em>known </em>he was broken but – he was fine. He’d known this was how it would end, hadn’t he? Like everything else, this was decided in a way he could never change. It wasn’t like he’d thought Din would really want to - to fucking <em>marry </em>him or something, he wasn’t completely delusional, he’d known they were a temporary thing, but he’d thought it was because Din <em>liked </em>him. </p><p>His phone buzzed with a text, and it took a long minute before he could bring himself to look at it. It was from Din, and just seeing his name on the screen made Boba’s chest feel tight. </p><p><em>I’m sorry, I completely lost it, I shouldn’t have said any of that, </em>his text read, and he was saying it because he felt <em>bad </em>for Boba, who had fallen apart at the slightest rejection from Din. God, Din had probably been able to read it on his face, that he was so completely devastated by what Din had said. </p><p>His phone buzzed one more time. </p><p><em>Baby, please call me, </em>it said, and it was sweet and pleading and <em>pitying; </em>Boba didn’t call. He buried his face in his hands, and just let himself cry. </p><p> </p><p>The party suddenly felt much too loud and much too crowded. Din hadn’t exactly been enjoying himself since arriving, just wasn’t <em>good </em>at professional events like this. He felt overdressed even though every other man there was also in a tux, out of place even though he literally had to be there, and then Boba - he was gone now, why had Din let him <em>leave? </em>Din should have gone after him. Why hadn’t Din <em>gone after </em>him? Boba had yanked away from him and hadn’t tried to fight, hadn’t tried to argue, just looked like he wanted to get <em>away </em>from Din. </p><p>Din couldn’t find him anywhere. He checked both smaller side galleries, the main gallery, and finally circled around the terrace twice before Cara grabbed him on his third pass. She and Leia were standing at the edge of the crowd, by the skylight in the centre of the terrace, a window that looked down onto the museum below. Leia, radiant in a white cocktail dress that contrasted with Cara’s emerald dress, held a napkin with no less than three tiny bread rolls on it. Cara was dutifully holding a miniscule bowl of some kind of whipped butter for dipping. </p><p>“Where are you <em>going?” </em>Cara asked, “You’ve gone by like twice now.” </p><p>“I’m, uh. Avoiding Toro,” Din said, spotting the obnoxious blue suit easily through the crowd of dark-hued tuxes. Cara followed his gaze and nodded. </p><p>“Oh, yeah. For the eye strain alone.” </p><p>“I love how you all hate each other around here,” Leia deadpanned. “Do you need to go and give him a dressing-down too, or is he safe?” </p><p>“What did you do?” Din arched an eyebrow, turning to Cara. She rolled her eyes. </p><p>“Nothing! Basically nothing. What had to be done.” She gestured with the hand holding the tiny bowl just as Leia tried to dip a bread into it, and Leia chased her palm with a grumble. “You remember the partner, who I said was going after a junior associate?” </p><p>“Uh.” Din caught sight of a waiter passing by with a tray of sliders and turned to snag one, so Cara wouldn’t see the guilty look on his face. “Yeah.” </p><p>“I just had a quick word with him.” </p><p>“Mm?” Din managed through a mouthful. As good as the slider was, what he really wanted was a drink, after the goddamn evening he was having. He kept going over it, the rapidly escalating fight, how <em>mean </em>he’d gotten towards Boba. Din had just been feeling so uncomfortable and out of place, and looking at Boba, a fucking <em>partner </em>who had gone to all the right schools and had all the right career moves and had<em> never </em>opened up to Din – </p><p>“I mean, for all the good it did,” Cara blew out a frustrated breath. “He barely listened to me. Do you think this industry <em>attracts </em>self-centered assholes, or creates them? It’s hard to tell sometimes.” </p><p>“Yeah, uh… you guys want anything from the bar? I’m gonna get a drink,” Din said. </p><p>“White wine?” Leia asked hopefully. </p><p>“Does that pair well with the bread?” Cara teased. “I think I saw <em>other </em>trays going around, you know. It’s not <em>just </em>bread.” </p><p>Din slipped away and headed to the bar, which had a line four people deep for each of the three bartenders. He sighed, slid his phone out of his jacket pocket to check again for a message, but there was nothing. He couldn’t exactly blame Boba for not calling; he was probably confused by what Din wanted from him. Din couldn’t even figure it out himself, had accused Boba of using him and then turned around and begged him to come back? Even Din didn’t know what he wanted. Suddenly, being used didn’t even seem that bad, certainly not worth giving up everything over. And was Boba supposed to <em>now </em>open up to him, after the way Din had accused him? He’d never open up to anyone again. Din had done that to him. </p><p>“So like I was saying,” Cobb’s voice made Din look up from his phone screen, and Cobb sidled up to him. He was the only man Din had ever met who could pull off a <em>velvet tux, </em>and a patterned one at that. Something about how he was able to wear it so seriously, without an ounce of self-consciousness. </p><p>“Uh… about?” Din tried to remember what Cobb had said, but hadn’t Cobb just complimented him on his tux and left? </p><p>“Oh, that’s just the excuse I used to talk to attractive people,” Cobb flashed a smile, “You just walk right up like you were already talking. Works every time.” </p><p>“Am I the, uh…” Din felt himself blushing. </p><p>Cobb set a hand on Din’s arm, leaned in slightly closer. He smelled amazing up close, just a hint of cologne, and scent had always been Din’s weak spot. “Yes,” he said, like he was sharing a secret, “you’re the attractive person in this scenario.” When he leaned back, he left his hand on Din’s arm, Din still clutching his phone in front of himself. The screen was still, still dark. </p><p>“It’s not even a nice tux,” Din blurted out, for lack of anything better to say. He wasn’t exactly good at talking to polished, attractive men, even if he wasn’t <em>interested </em>in them. It was the mismatch between them that threw him, just feeling out of their league. </p><p>“Well, then, all the more credit goes to you.” Cobb was, Din had to admit, <em>very </em>attractive. In an entirely different way than Boba, though, who was devastatingly handsome, who knew it and used it but not when Din would have <em>expected, </em>capable of throwing his weight around at work but once actually in the bedroom, blushed like he had no idea he was desirable. His best smile was the shyest one, the way he’d glance at Din and then duck his head and <em>then </em>smile, that tore Din’s heart right out of his chest. </p><p>“So how’s the, uh… party? For you?” Din asked, for lack of anything better to say, and regretted it almost immediately, because if Cobb asked <em>him </em>the same thing, what could he possibly say? He stood around feeling awkward, got in a snarling fight with his not-really-ex-boyfriend, and then failed to go after him when he stormed out. </p><p>“I love these parties! Where else do you get to have amazing food and drinks while surrounded by people dressed to the nines? There’s really nothing like it.” Cobb’s hand moved to the small of Din’s back, “You, on the other hand, don’t seem to be having a good time.” </p><p>“What makes you think that?” Din asked, tried not to sound guilty about it. Had people <em>seen </em>him? God, he’d all-but shoved Boba up against a wall and yelled at him, and he didn’t even know what Boba had come to talk to him about. </p><p>“Saw you having what looked like an unfriendly conversation with a certain partner?” Cobb raised his eyebrows, and Din looked down guiltily. </p><p>“Just… work stuff.” </p><p>“Looked kind of personal to be work stuff,” Cobb said, but it was sympathetic. “I’m no expert, but in my experience, people with a lot of baggage just leave you blaming yourself when it doesn’t work out.” It sounded so final, <em>when it doesn’t work out, </em>like it was already said and done<em>. </em>Din chewed his lip and snuck a glance at his still-dark phone screen. “Maybe you’d like some friendlier company, so this party doesn’t make you hate all Christmas parties for the rest of your career? I promise they can be fun. Except the yacht ones.” </p><p>“What’s wrong with the yacht ones?” </p><p>“You ever tried to sneak out of a party with someone when it’s on a <em>yacht? </em>There’s a reason Alcatraz is out in the middle of the Bay. Unless you’re willing to make that swim, you are <em>stranded.” </em>His hand was still on Din’s back, and he guided Din forward with it when their turn came up at the bar, “I’d love a Boulevardier,” he told the bartender, who nodded, and moved to get a glass. “Din?” Cobb patted Din’s back, and Din shivered. </p><p>“Um. Just,” Din cast a glance at the list of available beers, but decided he needed something much stronger, after the night he was having. “Bourbon. Oh, and a red wine for Cara’s wife. A pinot noir.” Had Cara wanted anything? He didn’t think so. Or maybe he’d left before she had the chance to ask, it was hard to remember. </p><p>The bartender assembled their drinks and passed them over; Din wasn’t expecting Cobb to follow, but he stayed by Din’s side as he brought the drinks back over to Cara and Leia, who had managed to snag a cocktail table. Leia had acquired a tiny eclair, and a trio of shot glasses, each with a different flavor of mousse. </p><p>“I see we’ve moved on to dessert,” Din said, passing over the wine glass. It was only once it was in Leia’s hand that he realized what he’d done. “It was white, huh?” he said, “I’m sorry, it was automatic.” </p><p>“Red is perfect, sweetheart,” Leia smiled across the table at him, and there was a twinge of sympathy to it, like she somehow understood what had happened. Din sighed, sipped his drink and tried not to wonder how long it would take to forget things like that. If it was all really over, and everything he knew about Boba was now obsolete knowledge. He didn’t even know enough to be <em>useful, </em>he’d never be able to find that precise kind of wine again, couldn’t even remember the label, and the thought that it was lost to him was so <em>stupidly </em>painful. </p><p>Din missed most of their conversation; Cara introduced Leia to Cobb, they talked about the last holiday party, Cobb asked if they recommended the eclairs over the mousse or if they wanted him to hunt down another dessert-tray-toting waiter to continue the taste test, and it took Din the entire time to finally remember that the winery was in the Santa Lucia Highlands and for a moment he was so <em>happy, </em>until he realized that it really, truly didn’t matter. </p><p>Someone pulled Cobb away after a moment, though he paused before leaving to touch Din’s back again and murmur “I will be <em>right </em>back with you,” before slipping away. Din frowned at his suddenly empty glass, looked up to find Cara giving him pointed looks. </p><p>“What?” he asked, and she arched her eyebrows. </p><p>“He’s <em>into </em>you, Din,” Cara whispered. </p><p>“I <em>knew </em>it!” Leia added, looking triumphant. She shrugged at Cara’s bemused look. “You <em>know </em>how bad I am at telling who’s gay. I’ve been working on it.” </p><p>“I hear it took Cara three months to make you understand she was flirting with you,” Din said, hoping to distract them from Cobb. What did it matter, if Cobb was into him, anyway. </p><p>“Oh, yeah,” Leia said, picking up the strawberry mousse and taking the tiny spoon from Cara’s hand. “She had to get really blatant.” </p><p>“And <em>speaking </em>of blatant,” Cara said, Leia nodding in emphatic agreement as she spooned up mousse, “He is <em>blatantly </em>into you!” </p><p>“I don’t know,” Din mumbled. “I just got out of a… whatever it was, not very long ago.” Just a couple hours, really, and was it over? It couldn’t be <em>over. </em></p><p>“You don’t have to marry him, Din!” </p><p>“Didn’t you <em>literally tonight </em>just yell at a partner for sleeping with a junior associate?” Din pointed out, “Cobb’s a partner, and I’m a junior associate.” </p><p>“This feels different. For one, you aren’t getting anything out of it.” </p><p>“Except that beautiful man’s undivided attention. And you <em>deserve </em>beautiful things,” Leia insisted. </p><p>“And two, it’s <em>Cobb! </em>This is totally different,” Cara added, “Look, the partner being an asshole about it was Fett, okay? You have to agree that he and Cobb are <em>completely </em>different.” </p><p>“They are,” Din agreed miserably. Boba would never stride up to him at a party and hit on him. He’d need Din to approach him first, and Din would be the one with his hand on Boba’s lower back, leaning in close to speak softly against his ear, and Boba would give him the most helpless, needy look, and – </p><p>“It was pretty bad, huh?” Cara asked, gentler, and Din shrugged a shoulder listlessly. </p><p>“Like I said,” he muttered, “I was out of my depth.” </p><p>He was relieved when Cobb never did make his way back over to them; the night crawled by once he finally accepted that he really wasn’t going to hear from Boba, and Din just stuck by Cara and Leia for the rest of the evening, doing a miserable job of socializing and just trying not to look outright devastated. </p><p>When they finally left the museum, the silence outside was heavy, after the constant noise of the party all night. Din followed Cara and Leia to the sidewalk, Leia giggling as she explained to Cara that she was fired from taxi-hailing ever since what Leia referred to as “the Vienna fiasco.” Din pulled out his own phone to call an Uber for himself, tapped through screens and tried not to keep swiping down to check yet again for messages. There still weren’t any. </p><p>“Din, are you really okay?” Cara asked as they waited, her voice soft as she nudged him with her elbow. Din exhaled, his breath rising as a fog in the cold air, pushed his hands into his pockets and just tried to keep it together for a little while longer.  </p><p>“I think I was in love with him,” Din said, and just like during the argument, when every terrible thing he said felt so painfully true as it was leaving his mouth, this did, too. </p>
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